


It Takes A Bit More Than You

by YourPalYourBuddy



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (casually updating the tags as I go...), Alternate Universe - Hockey, Chaptered, Developing Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, M/M, Minor Jane Foster/Thor, Minor Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, POV Bucky Barnes, Through the Years, a series of unfortunate events references, alrighty so we got a little angsty/pining, and they'll end up together in the end, bit of swearing, but there're so many chapters coming guys don't worry, focuses on high school through college, hopefully this will be done over break, i should be asleep, minor Bucky/Gabe, minor as in don't get attached to that pairing, no promises, or will, sorry 'bout that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8937763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourPalYourBuddy/pseuds/YourPalYourBuddy
Summary: They met age five, tiny, stumbling to pull the weight of tiny hockey bags stuffed full with pads and an extra pair of laces, because their parents could never be too careful. Their parents held their carefully taped sticks and met eyes as they climbed the steps leading to the rink. It wasn’t a place for magic, this hockey rink; yet Steve would swear, in years to come, that he felt some sign from the ice that they were meant to be best friends. His parents laughed as he said this; he was cute with his front teeth missing. Not a place for magic, but Bucky certainly thought so, skipping home as he was.________Stucky through the years, starting age five. Hockey AU, chaptered. Planning to go through college. Bucky's POV; possible POV shift in later chapters.





	1. Through Freshman Year

They met age five, tiny, stumbling to pull the weight of tiny hockey bags stuffed full with pads and an extra pair of laces, because their parents could never be too careful. Their parents held their carefully taped sticks and met eyes as they climbed the steps leading to the rink. It wasn’t a place for magic, this hockey rink; yet Steve would swear, in years to come, that he felt some sign from the ice that they were meant to be best friends. His parents laughed as he said this; he was cute with his front teeth missing. Not a place for magic, but Bucky certainly thought so, skipping home as he was. His parents smiled as he said this; they were in the middle of a divorce, but they didn’t want him to know.

The next day brought two excited little boys to the rink again and this time they pulled their bags themselves and carried their sticks on their own. Their mothers still came into the locker room with them, of course; they were not large children, and the pads are heavy still.

Steve strides out to the ice eagerly, takes a step, and waits for Bucky, who follows more slowly. His parents weren’t happy that morning and he’s not sure why.

“Stevie!” Sarah Rogers waves her son over from the open door and gives him a kiss on his helmet and his stick. “Good luck muffin, your father and I will be cheering for you!”

Bucky almost trips over his skates watching Sarah climb the bleachers.

“You okay?” A big hand closes gently over Bucky’s left arm; turning, he sees their coach. He’s not sure how old he is, but he seems older than his parents. At least a little.

He nods with a smile and Coach Fury lets go. Steve skates awkwardly over and bumps into his shoulder before falling on his butt. Bucky shakes his glove off and pulls him to his feet, sliding back all the while. This is a friend, he thinks. Steve.

The instant after he thinks this Steve’s skate catches a trailing lace and down he falls again. A corner of Bucky’s mouth twitches into a small grin. He helps him up again. 

Their early months are filled with moments like these: Bucky and Steve pair up on nearly every drill, except when their coach makes Bucky work with Clint or Tony. Coach doesn’t say why and Bucky doesn’t ask him to explain, but his five-year-old eyes see clearly how upset Steve is whenever this happens.

Sarah and Joseph take a bundle of sweat-covered Steve home after practice and Bucky’s parents walk their son out the door without a word to each other.

______

 

Rebecca sits in the bleachers sometimes with their parents, calling down advice.

“That’s right, Buck, good crossover! Now try and pass up the boards to Clint, see how he’s open?”

I’m eight, he thinks, but doesn’t say aloud. Rebecca is intense, sometimes. She doesn’t play herself, but she’s watched enough on TV that she knows what she’s talking about.

“Steve, extend and glide, kiddo. Push off and glide.”

He doesn’t have to turn to picture Steve struggling to gain the momentum he needs to chase him. He slows down, just a little, and Steve’s star-spangled stick knocks the puck away. It hits dully against the boards.

“Yes!” Steve pants. Bucky turns now, feeling his skate edges cut cleanly into the ice. The other boy is dripping sweat from just that skate up the rink, but his eyes are as bright as Bucky’s ever seen them. 

“Rogers! Barnes! Get back in the game!” Coach Fury calls from the bench. 

Bucky bumps elbow pads with Steve before tearing after Bruce, who’s bearing down on Tony like a freight train.

It goes by in a blur: pass now to Clint, crowd the net, get back quick for defense, check once twice three times to make sure Steve’s okay, climb over the boards so Gabe can get on the ice to show off for his parents, tune out Rebecca, practice moving the puck from stick to skate and back again.

Then Fury calls them together and it’s over for the day and Steve huddles breathless over his hockey bag. Bucky plops down on the bench beside him, ignoring the smell of unwashed pads and socks that somehow seeps into the rubber locker room floor.

“You okay?” Bucky asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says, still panting.

“Take some deeps breaths,” Bucky says. It’s what his mom always said.

“Trying,” Steve replies. His words sound like they’re coming to him through fog.

Bucky hops to his feet, a move made awkward by the fact that he only managed to untie one skate, and starts looking through Steve’s bag.

“What’re you doing?” Steve asks, pausing between each word.

Bucky doesn’t answer. Where is it?

“Bucky?”

There.

“Inhaler,” he says. He claps it into Steve’s hand and for the first time realizes how small he is.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, breathe up,” Bucky says, and thankfully Steve does just that.

______

 

“Steve!” Bucky calls, barrelling into the locker room before remembering just in time to let the door close softly behind him. His mother doesn’t like slamming doors, Rebecca says; it reminds her of their father, and Bucky doesn’t want to be like him. Not anymore.

Steve looks up, scrawny on the bench next to Gabe and Clint even in his pads. The only other person on their team who’s similar in size to him is Tony, but even Tony’s been filling out a little. “What’s up, Buck?”

“Mom says you can come over after practice, if you want,” he says, running over his words like he’s flying downhill on a bike. “It’s my birthday today, I want you there.” He pauses, kicks at his bag. “I mean, if you want to be there.”

“Really?” Steve asks, and he doesn’t look as happy as Bucky had hoped. “Why?”

“Why what?” Buck drops his gear next to him and straps on his knee pads.

“Why do you want me there?” Steve asks. There’s a line splitting the skin between his eyebrows and Bucky’s never seen that expression on a ten-year-old before. He pulls his laces so hard Bucky’s surprised he doesn’t split skin.

“Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends, Steve,” Bucky says, suddenly uncertain. Steve’s the only one he’s got that close to his own age, and beyond that, the only one period. Rebecca’s hardly ever home now, let alone going to his games, and they only see their father at every other holiday.

Steve smiles, a small, fledgling thing. It cracks his chest a little just to look at it. “You mean that?”

“‘Course I do,” Bucky says, pulling on his socks over his knee pads.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Kiss already, why don’t you.”

Bucky and Steve flush bright red and finish getting dressed, and Coach Fury tells him later that that was his best game yet.

______

 

Bucky goes over to Steve’s house for the first time after an away game. They’d gotten in very late, so Sarah calls his mom and tells her she’d drop him off in the morning. Bucky and Sarah spend the car ride talking through every little play, and she buys them ice cream, and a little part of him thinks this is how mothers are supposed to be.

Bucky takes a little longer than necessary in the shower. He’s studying, in a way; all of the soaps and shampoos and conditioners—that’s why Steve’s hair is so soft, he thinks, conditioner—are hypoallergenic, a word he hadn’t known before. The water pressure’s good and solid and warmer than the warmest setting at home.

“It’s because I’m allergic to so many things,” Steve says, and his towel almost looks too heavy for him. He’s not as skinny as he was two years ago, but at twelve he still looks like a good sized breeze could carry him to New York City. 

“What’re you allergic to?” Bucky asks as he towels off his hair. He’s wearing some of Steve’s extra pajamas and the bottoms end at his midcalf.

Steve wraps his head in the turban thing Rebecca always does. He’s not yet wearing a shirt, and Bucky can see most of the bones in his chest. He’s caught between wanting him to cover up and wanting to protect him from everything. It’s a weird battle and it catches in his throat.

“It’d be easier telling you what I’m not allergic to, actually,” Steve says, and the protection instinct wins out. Steve must see a change in his expression, because he bristles and says, “I don’t need you to worry about me, Buck. I can take care of myself.”

Bucky frowns and crawls into the sleeping bag Sarah left out for him. “I know that.”

“Then why—?”

“We’re friends, knucklehead,” Bucky says, sitting up and throws his towel at him. Steve’s breath  _ whuffs _ out of him when he catches it. “Friends are allowed to worry about each other.”

Steve narrows his eyes and sits on his bed. “I know. I can watch my own back, though.”

Bucky curls onto his side and says sleepily, “Yeah, but you don’t have to. At least—” he yawns “—not on your own.”

“Thanks, Buck,” he thinks he hears Steve say softly, but he’s asleep before he can ask him to say it again.

______

 

First day of high school, and Bucky’s mom crams a piece of toast in his hand before he leaves for the bus. He hasn’t seen his father in five years now.

“Have a good day, Buck,” his mom says woodenly, and then she pushes him out the door. 

Bucky kicks at a rock on the sidewalk. It’s a habit now, kicking. He and Steve have gotten in a few fights in back alleys and kicking always sends the other guys on their way.

He doesn’t really want to go to school. There’s a cement mixture of nerves and that burnt toast and his lack of a hug this morning or yesterday or the week before and it’s all combined in his stomach like bad oatmeal. 

The bus is in sight and when it stops in front of him he tries to calculate the last time he’d gotten a hug. It was probably from Mrs. Rogers, he thinks, but he’s not sure when. The bus door whooshes open for him.

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut for two seconds, and then gets on the bus.

It’s pretty crowded. There are a few kids he recognizes from hockey, but Clint and Tony are sitting together and Bruce and Gabe are too, and the others he doesn’t nearly know as well. He makes his way down the rows and finally spots one seat open at the very back, so he lifts his bag higher in order to step over feet and plops down in relief. He closes his eyes again.

He hopes Steve’s first day is going well, or at least that his bus ride is. They’d tried to convince their parents to send them to the same school; they hadn’t gone to school together in middle school, but this could’ve been their year. But it’s too far out of Mrs. Rogers’ way to work in the morning and Bucky’s mom wouldn’t even think about it. His pillow has been punched a lot more times recently than he’s happy admitting to himself.

Eyes still closed, Bucky feels in his coat pocket for his phone. Steve hasn’t yet answered his “Good morning” text, but that could be because he forgot to turn his phone on. Steve does that sometimes.

“Can I sit here? Do you mind?”

That’s an accent Bucky hasn’t heard before. He looks up, and there’s a dark, curly haired girl leaning a little into his row. She’s wearing bright red lipstick, which is fascinating.

She says, almost apologetically, “All the other spots are taken.”

“Um, yeah,” Bucky says. He moves his backpack so she can sit down, and, after a few seconds of trying to cram it in the space between his feet and the seat ahead of them, hugs it to his chest.

“Terribly sorry,” the girl says, effortlessly imitating his move and holding her backpack on her lap as well. “I’m Peggy, Peggy Carter.”

“You did it wrong,” Bucky blurts before he can stop himself. Peggy looks at him curiously. “You’re—you’re supposed to say ‘Carter, Peggy Carter’.”

Her forehead relaxes. “Oh, because ‘Bond, James Bond’,” she says with a smile. She clears her throat dramatically and flips her hair forward. “I’m Carter.” She pauses, gives him a mock serious look. Peggy flips her hair back over her shoulder and he laughs. “Peggy Carter.”

“Much better,” Bucky says. Maybe today won’t be too bad after all, even if he and Steve are going to different schools.

“And you are?” Peggy asks expectantly.

“Oh,” Bucky says. “I can’t do it as well as you, but; I’m Barnes, James Buchanan Barnes.”

She smiles warmly. “It was brilliant,” she says. Then her eyes widen. “James Buchanan? As in the American president?”

“My dad was a history guy,” he says. Thinking about his father pricks something near the cement mixture in his stomach, but he pushes it away. “I go by Bucky.”

It’s a sign of how polite and nice Peggy is that she doesn’t immediately poke fun at his name. “Pleased to meet you, Bucky,” she says, before taking a clementine out of her lunchbox and sharing it with him.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Me: How’d your day go?

Stevie: Fine.

Me: Just fine?

Stevie: Yeah.

______

 

“What’s this?” Bucky demands. It’s nearly first semester finals, and it’s the last practice before a week break. When they found out they’d be getting the week of Christmas off Clint muttered that Fury had gone soft, which immediately resulted in Fury making them do twenty lengths of the rink.

“What’s what?” Steve says, bemused. The less irate part of Bucky notes, with a swoop in his stomach, how much Steve’s already filling in even in the last few months.

“Don’t play that, Rogers. We talked about this,” he says, crossing his arms furiously.

Tony whispers loudly, “Uh oh. A lovers’ spat.”

“Shut up Tony,” Gabe says quietly. Tony shuts up. Bucky glances at Gabe, and they share a nod before he turns back to Steve.

Steve’s steadily not looking at him, not that that’ll help anything. “I don’t know what you mean, Buck,” he says now, and that about sets him off.

“You don’t—Steve, you’re covered in bruises, we  _ talked _ about this—”

“You should see the other guy?” Steve tries weakly, finally looking at him. 

It’s worse seeing it head on. Steve’s left eye is almost entirely closed and has already turned a purpley red color. There’s a split in his lip—no, multiple splits in his lip, and the shadow of a fist on his jaw.

Anger is not the word to describe what Bucky’s feeling. It’s so much sharper than that. He doesn’t know who he’s feeling it at.

He takes a deep breath, then five more. “Steve,” Bucky begins, before turning and walking right out of the locker room. Steve and Gabe call after him but he breaks into a run.

“Where’re you going, Barnes?” Coach Fury says from his seat in a folding chair. Bucky goes ramrod straight. They’re in the lobby; he hadn’t noticed. 

“Nowhere, Coach,” he replies stiffly. It’s not smart, Fury’s gonna make him do laps all practice, but he doesn’t care.

But when Fury speaks next, his voice is softer than Bucky’s ever heard it. “You know why he does it, Bucky?”

And it’s gotta be the first time in nine years that he’s said Bucky’s first name. He knows exactly who he’s talking about.

“Why?” Bucky asks. His voice squeezes together on the word, and he knows Fury’s only pretending not to notice.

“He’s growing up,” Fury starts. 

Bucky cuts in before he can continue with “It doesn’t seem too grownup.”

Fury bows his head for a few seconds. “I know. I never said it was the recommended way to grow up, Buck. But I do know Steve, I’ve known him as long as I’ve known you, and that boy’s heart is bigger than that of anyone I know.”

Bucky doesn’t respond. He knows this, but seeing it on Steve’s face—he doesn’t want to see that again. He won’t see that again. Not if he can help it.

“If it helps,” Fury says, his voice even softer. “If it helps, he was defending a little bird with a broken wing from some boys who were playing with it too roughly. He told me.”

Bucky laughs a little helplessly at that. Of course he was. He’d expect nothing else. What kind of fifteen-year-old freshman with skinny arms and a list of medical conditions would get a black eye for a little bird? Steve Rogers, that’s who.

Of course he was.

“Thanks, Coach,” Bucky says. That helpless note is still in his voice, as if he’d swallowed it.

“Don’t mention it, Barnes,” Fury replies gruffy. “Now go suit up, this is the last practice and something tells me Barton’s in need of a few laps.”

______

 

“Well, it wasn’t a terrible move, all told,” Peggy says absently. She, Bucky, and Steve are studying for their finals together at Peggy’s, or Peggy and Bucky are; Steve’s clearly starstruck by the lipstick, which Bucky notes with annoyance. He almost regrets introducing them, but it’s also slightly funny.

Very slightly.

Bucky pages through his biology notes as she continues. “My father married an American ages before I was born and had a daughter with her, but they divorced and my father married my mother and had me. Well, turns out my father’s daughter from his first marriage had a daughter my age and didn’t tell my father about it, for some reason, not sure why exactly….But Father wanted to be near her, both of them, and we all moved over. And I met my niece, her name’s Sharon and she’s very bright and she’s in my Phys Ed, which is odd.”

Bucky starts. “That’s your niece? Sharon Carter, the volleyball captain?”

“Yes, actually,” Peggy says. Her tongue pokes just slightly out of the corner of her mouth as she flips a page.

“Huh,” Steve says. Bucky watches him make a concentrated effort to keep from staring at her and has to consciously release his grip on his pencil, as it was making squeaking noises. “That…must be weird,” he says.

“It very much is, but not as weird as it will be when I try out for the team and they have to deal with two arse kicking Carters.” She pauses. “Except that won’t be weird. Maybe it will be for the other team. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“You okay, Pegs?” Bucky asks. 

She slams her book closed and says brightly, “Perfectly extraordinary, Bucky, thank you very much. So much better now that we’re going to watch the Harry Potter movies whilst eating popcorn.”

“Are we?” Steve says uncertainly as Peggy storms out of the room. Bucky shrugs, amused. 

“She’s something, isn’t she?” Bucky says. As if he was a scientist discovering a rare, lipsticked, determined creature. 

“Yeah,” Steve says, and coughs. “Yeah, she really is.”

______

 

Through Bucky, Peggy slowly infiltrates their post game routines. Soon enough it isn’t just Bucky and Steve going to Steak and Shake at nine or ten or eleven o’clock—with Sarah, of course, neither of them can drive yet—but the three of them, like any famous teenaged trio (without the magic. Peggy makes Bucky think of Harry, Ron, and Hermione).

There are times when he’s jealous of the time she’s spending with them, time that used to be his and Steve’s, and sometimes he doesn’t invite her. Except then he thinks about why he’s so jealous, and how those aren’t feelings he wants to look at, not now or ever and definitely not before sectionals, and he lets them be.

______

 

“Who’s that girl in the stands?” Clint asks. It’s their last game of freshman year and Bucky and Steve share a look.

“She’s been there since we lost sectionals,” Bucky says, distracted. The opposing team has the puck and Tony’s the only one on defense. “Don’t tell me you’re just noticing now.”

“That was like ten games ago,” Clint says. He’s staring now, jaw dropped. 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Exactly the point, Clint.” Bucky smirks at him.

On the ice before them, Tony skates hard up the boards. Bucky jumps to his feet. Or skates. Or whatever. Tony’s skating hard and it’s a two-on-one, just Tony and Bruce and the opposing team’s goalie, only so many feet from a tied game—

“Yes!” Their entire bench bangs on the boards so loudly it’s like cannonfire in the rink. Tony punches the air, grinning broadly.

It’s two to two now. Bucky grins too. Two to two and five minutes left in the game and anything can happen. 

The line that was on the ice comes off and Bucky’s goes on for the face off. He and Gabe play defense; they’re the most solid players on the team, so it makes sense. Clint’s at center like usual because his shot is the most precise of all of them, and because he’s sharp. Clint can read the ice so well that he can set up just about any play.

Steve’s at right wing because he’s right handed. Bucky frowns, looking at him while the ref checks with the goalies. He’s still little compared to the rest of the players on the ice. Especially compared to the opposing player standing next to him. The size difference makes the skin on the back of Bucky’s neck crawl.

The ref drops the puck and Clint sweeps it back toward Bucky before darting up the middle. This is a play they’ve done in practice; Bucky’s supposed to pass it across to Gabe, who’s then gonna pass to Steve. Fury’s always telling Steve to be careful on this play because they play check now and Steve’s small enough that a good hit would knock him out.

Fury doesn’t say that, though. All he says is to make sure to pass it to Jim Morita quickly, who’s so quiet sometimes Bucky forgets he’s there.

The puck slaps against his blade. Glancing up, he makes eye contact with the left wing coming at him, winks, and passes sharply to Gabe. A faint dull thud tells him he’s on target. He skates up the right side of the ice, glancing now and then at Steve and then feeling incredibly grateful Steve doesn’t know how often he watches out for him during games. Bucky doesn’t want to have that argument again.

Steve’s got the puck now, and Bucky’s so busy watching him that he doesn’t see the opposing defense completely take Clint out.

He hears the whistle, though, and sees the refs darting to Clint. Clint slumped on the ice at a weird angle and Bucky can’t see his face.

Bucky skates closer. It’s deathly silent in the rink.

There’s a circle of players around Clint and the refs as there always is when there’s an injury, one that only breaks up when Fury yells at them to get out of his way. Bucky skates up behind Steve and gently moves them both backward.

Steve shakes under his glove and he knows him well enough to grab his shoulders and make him look up. 

“Hey,” Bucky says quietly. “I know what you’re thinking, and I agree, but you can’t.”

Over Steve’s shoulder the ref’s shaking his head. Bucky physically feels his heart drop.

“There was no need for it Buck it was completely unprovoked—”

“Steve,” Bucky says. Steve meets his eyes. “You gotta breathe. You can’t start a fight now.” Steve opens his mouth to interrupt but Bucky shakes his head firmly. “No, listen. You can’t punch your way out of this. I don’t need you to go to the hospital too.”

“Players, back to your benches,” one of the refs barks. The other ref looks like he’s checking Clint’s pulse, and Fury very distinctly says “I’ve got an injured player” into a phone.

Bucky keeps eye contact with Steve and makes him skate back to their bench. There’s another cement mix slopping in his stomach, but he suppresses it. Steve needs to be grounded, and Bucky’s always been good for that.

“I’ve got you,” Bucky murmurs. He takes his glove and rubs Steve’s back and feels him take a shuddering breath. “It’s okay.”

It isn’t, of course, but they don’t find out how not okay it was until later. The paramedics had to cut Clint’s gear off him because he wasn’t awake to do it himself. Clint’s mom sent their parents an email updating them on Clint’s severe concussion, but Clint was the one who told them, when they crammed into his little hospital room, that he’d lost hearing in both ears.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Pegs: What was that player’s name?

Me: Brock Rumlow

Pegs: Where’s he from?

Me: Not really sure. He plays for a rival high school, though

Pegs: We should do something.

Me: …

Pegs: C’mon, Barnes 

**Pegs added Stevie to the conversation.**

Stevie: Yeah, c’mon Barnes

Me: Shit there are two of you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand they're off!  
> I'll be working on this over my semester break, so hopefully it should be wrapped up relatively soonish. I'm aiming for 10 chapters; this is my first chaptered fic, but the plan after this one is to have most chapters be a single year or close to it. Next chapter will focus on the summer before sophomore year and the year itself.  
> The title is from "You" by the 1975.  
> I'm on Tumblr; @untiltheendofthelinebuck or @ivecarvedawoodenheart, come say hi! :)
> 
> EDIT: The next chapter is actually taking a decent amount of time to complete, and it's only the summer of sophomore year. So it's looking like the chapters are going to be seasons in each year (so next chapter would be Summer of Sophomore Year, the one after would be Fall of Sophomore Year, etc)


	2. Summer Before Sophomore Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a bit of swearing.

“Well, I wrote an email to the man in charge of high school hockey in the area,” Peggy says one summer day.

Bucky rolls over onto his stomach to look at her. They’re by Peggy’s pool, just the two of them lounging on these fancy poolside chairs; he feels a little guilty for being happy that Steve’s not there, not because they’ve had a fight, but because the idea of him so close to her—especially with her looking like a swimsuit model from the forties—rubs him raw in a way he wants to avoid as long as possible.

He’s a bad friend. He takes a long sip from his glass of lemonade.

Peggy tilts her chin down to look at him over her sunglasses. “Bucky? Did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he says. He clears his throat and sits up and asks, “What’d he say?” The chair left little squares on his thighs.

“Nothing, actually. I received a brief automated email informing me that the president of the association was too busy to answer my email and that I ought to instead set up a meeting via his secretary.”

Bucky looks at her. “Did you?”

“Of course not,” Peggy says, a slightly scary smile on her face. She stretches and her collarbones remind him inexplicably of Steve.

“What’re you thinking?” he asks warily. She’s got that scheming look on her face, the one that means either Rumlow’s going to get hit hard or that they’re going to watch Harry Potter and take ideas from that.

Peggy says, “Buck, there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that they’d listen to anything we’ve got to say. ‘We’ve already suspended him for the summer and winter season’ and all that.” She takes off her sunglasses and her eyes are brighter than the sun reflecting off his glass. “There has to be another way.”

Bucky frowns, thinking. “I don’t know that much about him,” he says. “Maybe we should start there.”

“Brilliant!” Peggy exclaims. “Tear him apart from the inside! Excellent plan.”

“You think so?” he asks apprehensively. She really is, he thinks, just like Steve. There’s too much she’s capable of or too much that she believes herself to be capable of and he can see this plane crashing into the metaphorical ocean.

“Of course,” she says. Her eyes are still very, very bright. “I see no reason why it shouldn’t work. Infiltrate and conquer.”

He observes, “You’d be an excellent secret agent,” and she grins.

______

 

It’s the first practice since he and Peggy went through their plan and the first time he’s seen Steve since school ended two weeks ago (Steve and his parents went on a trip to Florida the minute school let out). Or, the first time he _will_ see Steve; Bucky has his knee pads and socks and shorts on and Steve hasn’t shown up yet.

He feels Steve’s absence as a dryness in his throat. He chugs half his water bottle to chase it away.

“Thirsty, huh, Buck?” Tony says, tying his bright red and gold laces. He laughs a little to himself.

Bucky says, “Shut up, Tony.” He pulls his laces so tight they leave marks on his fingers.

“No, see, that’s funny because you drank half your water, so literally you’re thirsty, and we all know you’ve got a thing—”

“He asked you to stop,” Gabe says levelly. Tony’s smile fades.

“I was just—” Tony starts, but Jim cuts in.

“You have the humor of a sixth grader,” Jim says, “and the tact of one. We’re teammates here. If something affects one of us, it affects all of us.”

Bucky’s eyes dart to Clint’s usual spot.

“We don’t harass each other in this locker room,” Jim continues. He glares, and Tony looks as though being stabbed would be less painful. “Or on that ice, or in our hallways, or anywhere. You got a problem with that, you’d better go tell Coach you’re quitting.”

It is, without a doubt, the most Bucky has ever heard Jim Morita speak. And in his defense, too. Who’d’ve thought.

“Tell coach what?” Steve says, pushing through the door. The smile on his face pinches as he takes in the atmosphere of the room. He catches Bucky’s eyes and quirks his eyebrows to ask _what’s going on?_

Bucky would answer him but unfortunately his brain went haywire the second Steve walked in because—

“Shit, Rogers, is that a piercing?” Tony asks. He hops to his feet and leans to look. “It _is_ a piercing. Look, guys, baby’s all grown up now.”

Steve Rogers with a pierced ear. Bucky’s sunk now, well and truly.

“Shut up, Stark,” Steve mutters. His ears are bright red.

“When did—why’d you—” Bucky stammers when Steve finally sets his bag down next to him. He wants to touch it. Maybe with his lips. He sees Gabe watching before studiously looking away and zipping his bag shut.

Steve smiles wryly and if Bucky wasn’t already doomed he would be now. “I was curious,” he says simply.

Bucky’s doomed, double doomed, for the things he’s thinking now at that. He clears his throat. Something to change the topic, anything at all:

“Um.” Brilliant. So insightful.

“You like it, huh?” Steve quips. He finally starts getting ready. “You’re speechless.”

“I’m not, I—shut up, Rogers,” Bucky says, exasperated, and Steve laughs aloud.

______

 

**New Text Messages**

Me: Have you seen it yet??

Pegs: Oh have I ;)

Me: He’s going to be the death of me I swear

Pegs: You’re always so dramatic

______

 

It’s hard to even look at him now, harder here in Starbucks than it was in the locker room. He looks too good surrounded by mugs and expensive coffee.

Peggy marches the three of them to the register and orders something that sounds like French to Bucky’s ears. He frantically searches the board for anything familiar while Steve orders in another language and sags in relief.

“Hot chocolate,” Bucky says to the redheaded barista.

She blinks. “It’s eighty-five degrees out.” Bucky shrugs, and she says, “Are you sure? There’re a few smoothies that’d be good right about now.”

“I’m sure,” Bucky says, mildly confused.

The guy in the back making drinks whips around and says, “Nat, you cheater.”

The barista’s face goes blank. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Bucky’s profoundly uncomfortable. “How much?” he asks. A large part of him wants to shove all the money in his pockets at the barista and run.

“Four sixty-three,” the barista says, and she rolls her eyes when the guy in back says, “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. That’s, what is it? C’mon Nat remind me—”

Bucky hears her snap “Ten to three” as he sits at the table Steve and Peggy claimed. It is, to his deep thanks, the furthest from the register.

“What was that?” Steve asks.

Bucky mutters, “I don’t even know.”

They all three glance covertly at the counter. Nat’s rolling her eyes again and the guy crows something about ‘down to the bank and tell ‘em Falcon sent you, they know what that means’.

 _“I_ don’t know what that means,” Steve murmurs, which makes them laugh and sets them off imagining what on earth ‘tell ‘em Falcon sent you’ means outside of a bad line from a superhero movie, which is Bucky’s vote.

They’ve narrowed it down to a very deadly pet when the barista calls out their orders.

“Sorry, I think,” Bucky says to Nat, and she sighs dramatically.

“Don’t worry about it,” she replies. “It’s a stupid bet.”

He sits down right as Steve says, “Clint texted me today.”

Bucky looks up; Steve’s voice is that shade of tense it gets when he’s trying to be casual. “What’d he say? How is he?”

“Fine,” Steve says. Bucky notices him clench and unclench his hands in his lap. “He said his head isn’t hurting as much.”

“Anything about his hearing?” Peggy asks.

Steve says, “Nope,” and downs about half his coffee. “Or, nothing fixed, really. He said they’re looking at hearing aids.”

“That’s good,” Bucky says awkwardly. What do you say to that?

“Yeah,” Steve says. He balls up a napkin and starts pinching pieces off of it.

The light from the nearest window plays off the stud in Steve’s ear and Bucky feels his cheeks flush a hot red. He shifts in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck.

Someone taps his foot under the table, and, looking up, he sees Peggy smiling knowingly at him.

“You all right there, Barnes?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky replies. He darts a hand to his cheek (it’s warm) and looks at Steve to see if he noticed anything, then feels oddly letdown when he sees Steve moodily blowing on the pile of shredded napkin.

A shadow swoops over Bucky’s left shoulder and he starts. It’s the barista from the register.

“Are you talking about Clint Barton?” Nat asks. The guy from before is watching them from behind the counter as he dries his hands.

There’s an edge in her voice. Bucky, Steve, and Peggy exchange looks before Peggy says, “You know him?”

“He’s my best friend,” Nat says. She crosses her arms. “What’re you saying about him?”

“Just that his hearing,” Steve starts, but she interrupts.

“Are you friends with Brock Rumlow?” she asks, voice rising, jaw set. Over her shoulder Bucky sees the guy walking quickly over to them. “Is that it? Think it was okay? Huh?”

The guy puts a hand on her shoulder—brave of him, Bucky thinks—and she angrily shrugs him off. “Natasha,” he says.

“We’re on his hockey team,” Bucky says hurriedly. He gestures to himself and Steve. “Him and me, we’ve known Clint since we were five.”

Nat seems to deflate before their eyes. She uncrosses her arms. “Sorry,” she mutters.

“Nat’s protective,” the guy says. He’s got these gorgeous brown eyes. Bucky can’t stop looking at them. “She would’ve decked Rumlow then and there if her uncle and I hadn’t stopped her.”

“He would’ve deserved it,” Nat and Steve and Peggy say at the same time, and they smile at each other.

Bucky and the guy groan at the same time, and they share a _shit there’re three of them_ face.

“Sam Wilson,” the guy says tiredly. He holds out his hand.

“Bucky Barnes,” Bucky says, and shakes.

______

 

He still hasn’t let himself think about it, not consciously. His subconscious has been having a rollicking good time with it though, as his grandfather would have said. It’s been exactly fifteen days since the Earring Incident and he’s been waking up feeling confused and guilty from his dreams every night.

______

 

“Mom?” Bucky calls, walking in the door. She doesn’t answer. “Mom?”

He wanders further into the house, looking in the slightly dilapidated (summer vocab word) kitchen. There’s a piece of toast in the toaster but no Mom.

It strikes him as odd that he’d use ‘wander’ in his internal monologue when talking about his own house, but nothing else seems to fit.

“Mom?”

The hallway makes a T with the kitchen as the top. At the end of the hallway there are three rooms; his own, Rebecca’s when she visits from college or from abroad or from wherever, and his mom’s. All three doors are closed.

He eases open his mom’s door and the smell of body odor hits like a fully padded defenseman. His nose wrinkles. There’s a dark mound of hair lying haphazardly on the pillow and Bucky finds himself hoping that it’s still attached to his mom’s head.

She’s been in here now for…maybe three days? He’s been out with Steve, Peggy, Nat, and Sam for the last week or so, so it’s hard to keep track. He turns the light on and immediately wishes he could turn it back off. There are so many bras and panties on the floor.

His mother stirs and mumbles something, squinting against the light. “James?” she whispers, and it sounds like her voice is cracking its way out of her throat. “That you?”

“Yeah, Mom,” Bucky says, then adds, “It’s Bucky.”

“Oh.” Her voice is clearer now. The flatness grates against his heart but he shoves the hurt down. “Thought you were your father.” She rubs her eyes. “Did you need something?”

Bucky pulls at the fingers of his left hand and says, “It’s Steve’s sixteenth tomorrow. The Fourth of July.”

“Good for Steve.”

“Um. They’re having a party…can I go?”

His mother looks at him now. Incredulity (vocab word) stains her face. “They invited you?”

Bucky bites down a reply and settles for “We’ve been best friends since we were five.”

“How come he’s never been over, huh? You ashamed of your mother?” Bucky opens his mouth but she waves him off. “Fine. Go. Whatever.”

He turns to leave and when she calls, “Turn the light off,” he slams the door and walks out.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Stevie: Can you come?

Me: Yeah.

Stevie: :)

Stevie: Punctuation…

Stevie: You okay?

Me: Nah. I’ll be fine

Stevie: If you wanna talk

Me: I’ll see you tomorrow.

______

 

Steve’s house is exactly what Bucky would’ve expected to create someone like him. Two stories, painted light blue, wide garden with plenty of light…it’s like Steve if he were a building. There are faded crayon drawings on the fridge and, with a start, Bucky recognizes himself. The little drawing has his brown hair and that grey sleeve he always wears for hockey.

It’s funny the way feeling out of place at your house makes you look for examples of home in other people’s houses. The Rogers’ house feels like a home. It’s rooted in every inch of this place.

“They’re all out back, Buck,” Sarah says, coming into the kitchen with an empty plate. She takes out a container of cookies and starts placing them on the plate.

Bucky holds up his bag awkwardly. “I brought a gift,” he says. “Where—?”

Sarah’s face lights up and her smile is so similar to Steve’s he has to look away. “Well aren’t you the sweetest. Here, I’ll grab that; go on, now, just through the living room.”

“Thanks Mrs. Rogers,” Bucky says, handing her the bag, and she beams and shoos him along.

There are pictures lining the wall of the living room. Scrawny little Steve gazes out at him from their first ever team photo.

In the backyard, Mr. Rogers—Joseph, Bucky remembers—has a slackline set up between two trees and hamburgers on the grill. Bucky pauses just outside the screen door; Steve’s animatedly telling a story to Sam and Peggy, and Bucky can’t go over there without Peggy giving him what he’s been calling in his mind the You’re In Love With Steve Rogers Look.

He’s not sure if it’s love, exactly. But it’s definitely Something.

Nat’s eyeing the slackline with great interest so he goes over to her instead. She watches him approach and says, “You look nice.”

He’s wearing a blue t-shirt and dark-wash jeans, which, admittedly, is nicer than what he usually wears—today’s outfit doesn’t have any holes—but is not nearly an entirely spangled dress, which is what she’s got on. “Thanks?”

“Your shirt matches Steve’s eyes,” she observes casually. His heart plummets.

“Um,” Bucky says. The corner of her mouth twitches.

“Relax, Barnes. I won’t tell him.” She stretches her arms over her head. “I’m surprised he hasn’t figured it out by now.”

Bucky kicks at the tree and the slackline shakes slightly. “He’s not the brightest,” he mutters. “I mean, he is, but.”

“Hey, come help me with this,” Nat interrupts. She steps up on the slackline and holds her hands out to help balance. She flaps the hand closest to him, and he takes it. “Don’t hold on, I wanna see if I can make it.”

Bucky obliging lets his hand hover just underneath hers, and she practically runs the entire length of the line before jumping off. Joseph calls, “Nicely done Natasha!” and she bows.

“I’m a gymnast,” Nat explains, seeing the question on Bucky’s face. He nods, looking toward Steve. Nat nudges him with her elbow and it’s probably the pointiest elbow he’s ever felt. “Go say hi,” she says gently. “He’s your best friend.”

Bucky makes a face at her and she makes one back and he trips and then makes his way to Steve. Peggy winks at him over Steve’s shoulder, and Steve turns around, and just then it’s like Bucky’s looking at the ocean for the first time again.

“There you are,” Steve says with a grin, and he pulls Bucky in a hug.

“Happy birthday,” Bucky says.

They let go of each other, and maybe it’s only because he saw that picture in the living room of Steve when he was five, but it hits him suddenly how much bigger Steve is now. There’s the shadow of definition in his jaw and arms and Bucky is so, so screwed.

Steve’s earring winks at him and he looks at the ground.

“I’ve got burgers over here,” Joseph calls, “if you all eat that sort of thing.”

“We’re teenagers, sir,” Sam says. “We’ll eat just about anything.”

Nat bumps him with her shoulder and he looks at her and Bucky sometimes wonders about them.

The hamburgers go quickly, more into Sam and Steve’s stomachs than into the rest of them. Joseph and Sarah bring up stories about Steve throughout the entire meal, and Steve’s turned red at so many of them that Bucky’s half convinced that’s his natural state of being.

“In Ancient Sparta you’d be considered a man now, Rogers,” Nat says at some point, and she and Peggy launch into a mini lecture of coming-of-age celebrations throughout history. Joseph chimes in now and then with commentary or additional facts; Bucky forgot he, like his own father, was a history major in college. Bucky, Sam, and Steve spend most of this talk sharing _I don’t really know what’s going on_ faces with each other.

Sarah ushers them all inside for presents while she and Joseph set up the fireworks, and Steve opens Sam’s first.

“Aw, man, thank you,” he says, a signed puck in his hand.

Nat gives him an earring set, a tiny hockey puck and stick. “You can switch them out,” she says, leaning back on Sam’s legs, “or wear them together, if you ever pierce your other ear.”

“Haven’t decided yet,” Steve says, a small smile on his lips. His entire family, Bucky thinks, they’re always smiling. “Thanks, Nat.”

“I wasn’t sure what to get you,” Peggy says when Steve reaches for her gift. “But your mother mentioned something about sketching, so—”

Steve rips open the wrapping paper, and it’s a faux leather bound sketch book. “Pegs,” he says with a small gasp. “I can’t—it’s beau—thank you,” he manages. He skims the pages, then sets it carefully aside. “Thank you.”

Steve picks up Bucky’s bag and his heart constricts painfully. Bucky says, “It’s not as good as theirs, don’t get your hopes up.”

“I’ll love it anyway, Buck,” Steve says seriously.

He probably isn’t, but Bucky would swear under oath that Steve’s taking each piece of tissue paper out so slowly on purpose. He almost wants to rip the gift out of the bag, just to get it over with.

Steve takes out the last piece of paper and looks into the bag and says, “Oh, Buck.”

“Told you it wasn’t as good,” Bucky says weakly. There was a note of Something in Steve’s voice when he said his name.

Steve reaches in the bag and then suddenly there’s a ticket stub in his hand. “The first away game we ever played,” Steve says, and his eyes are suspiciously bright. “Our first sleepover.”

Peggy and Nat raise their eyebrows in delight. Bucky prays harder than he ever has in his life that Steve doesn’t notice.

“I love it,” Steve says. There’s no note of pretense (vocab word) in his voice. “C’mere,” and then they’re hugging again, and this time it doesn’t feel like they’re ever going to let go.

“Fireworks are starting,” Sarah says, poking her head in through the screen door.

Yeah, Bucky thinks. Yeah, maybe they are.

______

 

The Plan to Humiliate Brock Rumlow begins in earnest sometime around early August, and it starts in a Steak and Shake after another hockey game.

“Is the plan still infiltrate and conquer?” Steve asks, grinning. He scored the tiebreaking goal at the end of the third period, his first goal in a game, and hasn’t stopped grinning since.

“You all smell, so badly,” Sam mutters. He looks up in mock surprise. “What, sorry?”

Peggy nudges him. _“I_ don’t smell,” she says, “and to answer your question, Steve, I believe our plan needs to change. We must hit and hit hard.”

“Sort of like a quick strike mission?” Bucky says, and Sam narrows his pretty eyes at him. He adds, “Don’t look at me, _I_ shower after our games.”

Steve ignores the implications of the comment.“All right. Quick strike it is. What do we know?”

“We know he’s an ass,” Sam says. He pinches one end off the wrapper covering his straw and blows into it. The wrapper hits Bucky between the eyes.

“Good shot,” Peggy comments.

“Thank you.”

“He’s an ass, and he’s severely hurt our teammate,” Steve says. The crease between his eyebrows it back. It’s unreasonably distracting. “Is that all?”

“Well,” Bucky says. He very deliberately addresses Peggy, who smirks at him as he says, “We know he’s got great hair. Not as great as my own—” he tosses his head back. Steve stares, and Sam and Peggy roll their eyes “—but nonetheless.”

“It’s not bad,” Sam says dismissively.

“Mine or his?”

“Both.”

“Hey—”

Steve clears his throat. “Let’s stay focused. What’re you proposing, Buck?”

Bucky’s smile spreads slowly as he tells them.

______

 

Clint comes to the third last practice before school starts. Nat threads her arm through his and Bucky and Steve draw her aside to tell her the plan. When they break apart, Coach Fury nods as if he knows exactly what they’re talking about.

Clint doesn’t practice, not really; he and Nat do slow laps without helmets around one half of the rink while the rest of the team practices a passing and shooting drill on the other half. Bucky passes to Tony while watching Clint watch them with the saddest expression Bucky’s pretty sure Clint’s ever worn. Clint’s expression combines with Nat’s quiet rage and Bucky’s own personal anger in the pit of his stomach.

He catches Steve’s eye, and they nod resolutely to each other.

______

 

Brock Rumlow’s house, like Steve’s, makes absolute sense for the kind of person he is. Blocky, dark, and gated. Granted it may be actual colors, but in this lack of light, it’s very, very dark. Bucky stumbles into one of the decorative hedges and he kicks it.

They’re hunkered (vocab) down in between the hedges and the brick of the house. Looking at them all, wearing black and holding bags, Bucky worries one of the neighbors will call the cops.

“Everyone know the plan?” Steve asks in a whisper. They all nod, but Bucky knows he was going to go over it anyway. He’s become much more confident lately, after scoring that goal. It, like his eyebrow crease, is unreasonably hot. “Peggy, Nat, you’re going to keep perimeter. Nat, keep the keys in the ignition; if we go down in the house—”

“Chill a bit, dude,” Sam says.

“Yeah, Steve, nobody’s ‘going down’,” Nat adds.

“—did I ask,” Steve finishes. Bucky elbows him.

“You’re always so dramatic,” Peggy says, rolling her eyes. Bucky laughs, and she points at him. “You, too.”

“Hush up, guys,” Steve says. He checks his watch. “It’s eleven forty. If you all know what you’re doing, then meet back here by eleven fifty. This really shouldn’t take longer than ten minutes. Shouldn’t take longer than five, if we’re lucky.”

“You got it, Cap,” Sam says with a salute.

Steve narrows his eyes. “We’ll talk about _that_ when we’re in the car,” he says. “Break!”

“I get it now,” Bucky hears Nat say to Peggy as he and Sam run after Steve. “What a drama king.”

______

 

Their only bit of luck comes with Rumlow’s unlocked window.

“Careful,” Steve whispers.

“Nah man I was gonna charge through the wall—”

Bucky says, “Is now the time, Wilson,” and they all shut up.

Steve gets through the window frame without a problem, and there’s definitely, Bucky thinks, some definition in the muscles of his arms.

 _I gotta get to the gym_ is his second thought, as he does a pullup through the window. A grunt behind him makes him feel better, as does Sam’s expression when he lightly tumbles through next to him.

Bucky knocks into a chair and Brock stirs in his sleep and they all freeze. Then he snores.

Steve whispers, “Do you have the scissors?” and Bucky slides them out of his bag. They glint in the moonlight and a dark thrill runs through Bucky’s body.

Brock’s sleeping on his stomach, so his hair flares out over his shoulders and Bucky’s so forcefully reminded of his mother. His stomach twists.

“I can’t,” Bucky whispers. He shudders. “I can’t.”

Steve softly claps his shoulder. “You okay?” Bucky shakes his head. “Do you wanna—”

“Guys,” Sam whispers. “The time, and how this is not it.”

He’s right, it isn’t, there’ll be another time for this plan, but this isn’t it. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut for three seconds, then moves to put the scissors back in his bag. Steve stops his hand.

“Wait,” Steve whispers. He takes the scissors and starts rummaging quietly through the clothes on the floor before straightening, Rumlow’s skates in his hands. “Here we are.” He snips the laces all the way down the boot.

“That’s petty, man,” Sam says. At his voice Rumlow shifts again and rubs his eyes.

“Fuck,” Bucky says, and they scramble to the window.

Rumlow sits up and throws off his covers. “What—hey!”

Sam bangs his knee against the window but Bucky has no sympathy for him. Rumlow jumps out of bed now and stalks toward them. “Hurry up go go go—”

“You go next,” Steve says, and Bucky’s exasperated to see he’s got his fists up.

Bucky replies, “Not without you, punk,” and decks Rumlow in the jaw. The other boy tumbles to the ground. “Go, you idiot,” Bucky groans, and kicks Rumlow’s stomach. Sorry, he thinks. Sort of.

Steve all but falls out of the window and, with one last kick, Bucky’s right behind him. And then they’re off running across the lawn, Bucky’s lungs creaking abuse at him, Steve running steady.

Nat has the car idling by a streetlamp the street over and they pile in. “Go go go go—”

“Going,” Nat says, eyebrows raised. She steps on the gas and they’re pressed against their seats by the acceleration. Her eyebrows are almost always raised, Bucky notes absently. His knuckles ache.

“It’s eleven fifty-five,” Peggy says briskly. The neighborhood fades fast behind them. Bucky’s never been so grateful to leave a subdivision before. “What on earth happened back there? Mission report?”

“Unsuccessful,” Sam replies. Bucky feels him look at him and he looks closer at his hand. Definitely going to bruise over.

“Probably because you didn’t have any women in the field,” Nat says flatly. She flicks on the turn signal.

Sam says something pithy in response but Bucky’s stopped noticing, because Steve’s holding his left hand. He about flatlines when Steve runs his thumb over his knuckles.

“I don’t know why,” Steve says quietly, “but I’ve never noticed you’re left handed.”

“My left arm’s always been stronger than my right,” Bucky says. His mouth feels extremely dry. “Speaking of. Are you working out?”

Steve looks down almost shyly. He’s still holding his hand. “Coach Fury thinks I could be starting line this year, if I work for it.”

“You always work for it.”

“Yeah, well.”

Bucky’s entire world is Steve holding his hand.

“—time we’ll have you beat him up,” Sam says to Nat.

“Maybe you should,” she replies archly.

Steve is holding his hand.

“—okay, Buck?” Peggy asks, twisting in her seat to look at them. Bucky can tell the instant she notices their hands. She’s got her slightly scary smile back again. Bucky doesn’t like it so much when it’s directed at him.

“I scraped my hand,” Bucky says lamely. She winks. He flips her off, and she laughs.

“He punched Rumlow,” Steve says. “Gave Sam and me time to get out.”

Peggy pretends to swoon and says, “Oh, Buck! My hero.”

“Shut up, Carter.”

Sam adds, “Cap here cut the laces on his skates, which is probably another swoon-worthy act. I myself played an intrinsic role—”

“Summer vocab?” Bucky asks. Steve’s still holding his hand. Is his hand clammy? It’d be just Bucky’s luck if his hand was clammy.

“—summer vocab, and am all-around brilliant, so be impressed by me too.”

“I’ll take it under advisement, Wilson,” Nat says.

“Do that.”

“Well I’m going to.”

Steve clears his throat. “That reminds me. What’s the whole ‘Cap’ thing, Sam?”

Sam grins. “You’re acting like our captain, going through plans, hearing ideas. You’re our Cap.”

Steve blushes and ducks his head. Bucky kind of really wants to kiss him. But you don’t do that, do you, with friends?

Bucky takes his hand back. You don’t. You don’t do that with friends.

______

 

The rest of the summer is a little under three weeks and is comparatively uneventful. Peggy forces another Harry Potter marathon upon them, which prompts another debate about the merits of a Harry Potter marathon as opposed to a Star Wars one. Nat and Sam are all for Star Wars while Peggy and Steve argue for Harry Potter, while Bucky knows he’ll spend the movie staring at the back of Steve’s head, so he doesn’t particularly care. They end up watching both over two and a half days.

Rebecca comes home from visiting Romania a week before he has to go back to school and they spend the next few days cleaning the house. He hasn’t talked to his mom about what happened July third. He doesn’t plan on it, not anytime soon.

His sister quietly asks him, while they do dishes after dinner, about their mother, and he just shakes his head and dries the saucepan.

The last night before sophomore year, Bucky’s at the Rogers’ house again. Sarah puts on a movie in the living room and irons and Bucky and Steve sit on the couch providing commentary.

“How does the car get that airborne?” Steve demands. He flails an arm out to highlight his confusion.

“It’s just a movie,” Bucky says, to keep from falling in love.

Sarah tuts. “It’s not ‘just a movie’, Bucky,” she says. She hangs up a newly ironed shirt and takes another from a seemingly never-ending pile. “It’s _Ferris Bueller’s Day Off,_ it’s iconic. My friends and I,” she says, with an air of _I shouldn’t tell you this but I will anyway,_ “once skipped and went to New York for the day, because of this movie.”

Bucky winks at Steve and says, “Sounds like a good idea.”

He thinks to himself, shit that was dumb Buck why’d you do that—

“Only with some good company,” Steve replies, and winks back.

“You will not,” Sarah says threateningly, as if Bucky hadn’t just metaphorically exploded into a ton of tiny heart-shaped pieces.

“We won’t,” Steve and Bucky say at the same time, and Steve brushes against his hand ever so briefly, and Bucky explodes again.

Bucky mutters, “Not without checking in with Fury first,” and Steve laughs in delight.

“True,” he says.

It’s late by the time the movie’s over. Sarah looks out at the darkness and says, “Why don’t you just spend the night, dear. If your mother doesn’t mind.”

Bucky frowns. “She wouldn’t. Are you sure?”

“You’re welcome anytime,” Sarah says earnestly. Sarah gets a _look_ whenever his mother is mentioned, and she’s wearing it now. Part concern, part righteous anger. Bucky can see where Steve gets it from. “And besides, Steve was going to find you tomorrow anyway, so you can just go in together and get him all sorted out.”

“What!” Bucky turns on him. Steve’s hiding a grin behind a pillow. “You transferred? And you didn’t tell me?”

“Wanted it to be a surprise,” Steve laughs.

Bucky exclaims, “Wanted to give me a heart attack, more like!”

“You don’t mind, do you?” Steve asks. He’s suddenly hesitant.

“Of course not,” Bucky says, “I’d never mind.” And he’s frightened to realize just how much he means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will focus on the Fall Of Sophomore Year and possible romantic developments. There will also be more hockey, I promise.


	3. Fall of Sophomore Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little more angsty, consider this the warning.

If Bucky had known how awful it’d be having Steve at school with him, he would’ve taken back what he’d said last night. He’d never mind, he said; and he wouldn’t, not really, except something about Steve brightens up all the poorly painted lockers, and he can’t explain it properly but something about him makes the occasional crumpled piece of paper in the hallways not half as bad.

It’s awful. Ms. Hill starts the morning off with a vocab quiz that Bucky probably failed because her assigned seating chart has him behind Steve. It’s not entirely his fault that his hair is so soft, or that he snores so softly, or that his ribs aren’t showing through his skin anymore; Bucky blames Steve anyway.

Tony’s dad, Mr. Stark, talks circles around them in their physics class, which is unfortunate because Bucky probably would’ve been able to pay attention if Steve hadn’t been wearing that blue shirt Bucky wore at his birthday, which he hadn’t even noticed him taking. Steve, wearing his shirt.

It’s awful enough for the fact of that, that Steve’s wearing Bucky’s shirt. But it’s worse, doubly worse, that _he’s wearing Bucky’s shirt_ and it matches his eyes, it really does, curse you, Nat, for pointing that out.

Monsieur Dernier pairs them up for conversation practice in third period and Bucky hates it even more, because what did he do to be forced to endure Steve Rogers speaking to him in French?

(He doesn’t hate it. Not at all, not when Steve trips over his vocabulary and accidentally asks him out instead of asking him where he went for summer break. Not when Steve blushes when Peggy points out his error with a wink for Bucky. Not even then. Especially not then.)

(Which is the problem, isn’t it? You don’t do that with friends.)

______

 

**New Text Message**

Pegs: ;)

Me: Shut up Peggy

______

 

After school is just as bad. His mother’s been in her room for the last three weeks now, and the hallway’s starting to smell, and there are fast food plastic trays on the counter. There are bills on the table and he’s probably going to have to get a job, won’t he, because the heating’s almost due, and the water bill’s due a little after, not to mention electricity—

“Maybe you can ask fancy Steve and his family, they’ve always been good to you,” is all his mother says about it.

That’s not true: “Get a job, freeloader,” is what she mumbles as he gags closing her door.

______

 

“I know some of you are planning to join your high school teams this year,” Fury says three weeks into the school year. The locker room freezes. Bucky frowns. High school teams? “I just want to say to you all, it’s been a pleasure coaching you. I’ve had the honor of seeing all of you young men grow from stumbling on skates at age five to where you are today, and that’s been a remarkable period of growth.”

 _High school teams?_ Bucky mouths at Steve, whose face pinches and then studiously empties. Anger, now; _You?_ Steve shrugs, rubs his neck. Fiddles with his earring.

Fury clears his throat and holds his hands behind his back. “Now. Not everyone is leaving, but a significant portion of you are; as such, the board has asked me to disband this team. However,” he adds. There’s a furious tilt to his smile like when he’s dealing with an off base and irritated parent. “However, given that it’s a stupidass decision, I’ve elected to ignore it.”

Tony laughs sharp and clear through the room, and as it echoes the tension deflates. Gabe cracks a rare smile, and he glances at Bucky, and something shifts in his chest.

Huh.

Bucky focuses on Fury, who’s about to speak again. “We won’t be able to practice as much. I’ll try to fit this practice in around your school practices, as much as possible.”

Out of the corner of Bucky’s eye, he sees Steve relax at this. Bucky glares at the wall.

“We’re a family,” Fury says, and Bucky looks up. Affection stains his words. “Three schools represented here, eighteen last names. But there’s only one of us, of all of us.”

______

 

The second practice ends Bucky’s slamming his way to the locker room to get changed. He’s not as big as Steve, maybe—hasn’t been working out as much—not that Steve’s even that big, which is really the problem here—anyway—not as big as Steve, but he throws all his weight into opening the door and manages a satisfying _crack_ against the brick wall. He tears his jersey over his head and accidentally scratches himself taking his elbow pads off and Steve’s hesitating in the doorway while Bucky unties his skates and it’s a mess, it is, and Bucky doesn’t care right now. He’s electric.

“Whoa, chill out Barnes,” Tony says airily, stepping over Bucky’s glove. Somehow it got into the middle of the room (Bucky dimly remembers throwing it). Bucky scowls at it.

“You okay, Bucky?” Gabe asks. He tosses Bucky the glove.

“Fine.”

He feels their eyes on him and the very instant they all look at Steve instead. He kicks his bag.

“Is it your time of the month?” Tony asks, one eyebrow arched.

On top of everything—why— “Shut the fuck up, Stark,” Bucky snarls. Bruce takes several loud deep breaths and this pisses Bucky off even more.

“You’re both being asses,” Jim says evenly. He crisply folds his jersey and packs it neatly in his bag.

 _“I’m_ not the one who—”

“Shut up Tony,” Gabe and Steve say. Bucky’s glaring a hole in the wall, but he catches a glance between them, and he thinks it’s saying _they’re both being asses._

Bucky shoves his knee pads into his bag. “Don’t fight my battles for me, Rogers,” he says, and storms out.

He thinks Tony mutters something about “So much for being a family,” but by that point he’s down the hall and too furious to ask.

______

 

**You have six (6) missed calls.**

**Voicemail #1:**

_Hey, Buck, it’s Steve. I know you don’t wanna talk but can you at least_

**Voicemail deleted. Voicemail #2:**

_Please just let me know what I did, I don’t like this, I don’t like not talking_

**Voicemail deleted. Voicemail #3:**

_Bucky, it’s Peggy. Steve’s just called me in tears, will you please explain what’s going on? You can’t not speak to him forever_

**Voicemail deleted. Voicemail #4:**

_Hey man. You okay? It’s Sam, call me back when you can._

**Voicemail deleted. Voicemail #5:**

_Is it about playing for school? Because I’ll still play for our team too, no one’s getting between me and the Avengers, I’m not gonna let Tony_

**Voicemail deleted. Voicemail #6:**

_Barnes. It’s Natasha. Are you okay? What the hell happened_

**Voicemail deleted. Voicemail #7:**

_Just wanted to say happy sixteenth, bud. Sorry that…that I can’t make it. I’ll make it up to you, somehow. Maybe a trip to Coney Island, or something. I sent a picture of the twins in the mail, I hope you got it. They really wanna meet their big brother. They’re getting so big…remind me of you at their age. They’re all eyes. I hope you’re doing okay. I’m doing better, promise. Anyway. Tell your mother and sister hi for me. Happy birthday, James. I miss you. Love, Dad._

**Are you sure you want to delete voicemail?**

**Voicemail saved. You have zero (0) new voicemails.**

______

 

It’s awful seeing Steve at school.

And he knows Steve isn’t tiny, not anymore, but.

In Bucky’s mind he still is. He’s still that eight-year-old suffering an asthma attack in Bucky’s mind.

______

 

He drops off applications to places at the mall and restaurants and everywhere he can think to. The bills are shoved in the cupboard above the sink now. They filled it as of last week.

______

 

“When are you going to talk to Steve?” Peggy asks. Her French is perfect; M. Dernier nods approvingly as he pauses by their cluster of tables.

Bucky turns around, and Steve looks up at the exact same moment. His conversation with Pepper Potts falters and spirals into desperate hand gestures and stuttering. M. Dernier leans over their desks, turning pages in Pepper’s textbook, and Steve looks at Bucky underneath their teacher’s arm. His eyes are faintly red. Bucky turns back to Peggy.

 _“Je ne sais pas,”_ he says in response, and it’s true. He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know a lot, actually, like how to properly use the subjunctive, or why he’s so upset at the thought of Steve playing for school, or why his mother won’t leave her room. Nothing makes any logical sense and he knows it and that makes it doubly frustrating.

Peggy dabs a tissue at the corner of her mouth. He doesn’t know why; her lipstick looks fine to him. “That’s a weak reply.”

Bucky shrugs and doesn’t reply. M. Dernier spent an entire unit last year discussing nonverbal French and the importance of the shrug, so suffice (summer vocab) to say that Bucky’s not feeling pressed to audibly respond.

He kicks at the desk leg and it shrieks across the ground and he mumbles a _Desolé_. Kicking desk chairs was not covered in the unit.

Peggy presses him, saying, “He’s beating himself up over it. You know how he is.”

Bucky sighs. He does know how Steve is. Once Steve ate the last piece of pizza at one of their sleepovers without asking beforehand, and felt so guilty afterward that he cried and couldn’t fall asleep without giving Bucky the rest of his Halloween candy. He was eleven, but still.

“It’s not his fault,” Bucky says in English. “I mean. It is his fault, but it isn’t.”

“What do you mean? I don’t understand.”

_“Monsieur Barnes, Mademoiselle Carter, en français s’il vous plaît.”_

Bucky grimaces. “Tell you later,” he whispers, even though he knows he won’t, before loudly comparing the differences between their shoes.

______

 

Rebecca’s in the stands for one of their ten o’clock practices. It’s the ninth one they’ve had in the past two and a half weeks, and everyone’s feeling it.

“That’s it, Buck, nice pass!”

I’m sixteen, he thinks. She’s treating him like he’s just learning.

To be fair, it’s pretty late. Jim’s half asleep in net, and Bruce’s dead on his skates; something about a really long science club meeting that ran late at their school. Tony’s showing off by the boards directly in front of the stands but even his trademark puck-in-the-air-to-catch-on-the-stick trick is numbed by tiredness, and he ends up whacking himself in the helmet. So Bucky’s pass to Gabe, all things considered, _was_ pretty nice in comparison.

Steve had tried at the beginning of practice to talk to Bucky like nothing had changed, but there’s a bruise poking out of the neck of his jersey, and that patch of discolored skin rubbed Bucky raw. It was probably from a stick, maybe from that gauntlet drill Bucky hates—they line up a little ways away from the boards and a player goes between everyone and everyone slams them into the boards, and Bucky’s never known what the point of it is—either way, or both ways, Bucky’s torn between yelling at him and kissing the bruise.

Obviously neither response would be helpful. So he had ignored Steve instead.

Was still ignoring Steve.

One of the few things he’s managing to control.

He pushes the thought down and focuses on the pinch of his skates instead, on the fact that they’re still missing Clint and that seven players have stopped coming.

Practice has more or less devolved by this point; he thinks Jim’s fully asleep in net now, and Fury himself seems to be nodding off in the scorekeeper’s box. It’s right next to the players’ benches, which is how Tony and Bruce manage to draw a mustache on Fury’s face and get back on the ice before he wakes up.

And when he does wake up Bucky’s practicing his backward crossover. He keeps almost managing to get it smoothly. Usually Steve would be there to pinpoint exactly what’s wrong with his footwork, but.

“That’s looking better, Barnes,” Fury says. His voice is gravelly from sleep. He looks at his watch and says, “All right, off to the showers with all of you,” and they slowly, tiredly, file off the ice. They pinball off the walls as they stumble to the locker room.

“Maybe it’s the league,” Gabe yawns. He slumps on the bench and pulls at his laces. “Sabotage.”

“Run that by me again, big guy?”

“You mean, that they give us graveyard practices on purpose?” Bruce asks.

Gabe shrugs. “S’possible.”

Bucky shrugs out of his jersey and says, “Sounds about right.”

“Interesting. Do you really believe that the league would actually care about our practice time? It’s not like our team’s affecting anyone.”

“Nah, but they’re pissed at Fury,” Bruce says, yawning.

“Why’s that?” Steve asks. He doesn’t look at Bucky when he says it.

Bucky looks back at his hands.

“Something about Clint again,” Jim manages.

“Shouldn’t SHIELD be on our side about that? It was clearly an illegal hit—”

Tony stretches. “Rogers, it was ages ago.”

“It was last season, Tony, and—”

Bruce cuts in. “I thought you two were organizing some sort of revenge against him?” This time Steve meets Bucky’s eyes. “I heard someone broke into his house and cut the laces on his skates.”

“I know nothing about that,” Steve says. His ears are bright red.

“‘Course you don’t, _Cap,”_ Tony says, and Steve’s entire face flushes. He nonchalantly tosses a wad of clear tape into the trash. Bucky nonchalantly pretends not to be looking at the muscles moving in Steve’s forearms as he does so.

Tony continues, “What does SHIELD stand for anyway? Society for Hockey In Eleven Little Districts? Sinisterly Hypnotizing Ignoble Elven Light Displays?”

The door swings open. “Close,” Fury says, before raising his eyebrows at Bucky. “Your sister’s here, Barnes. Wants you to hurry up.”

Bucky nods and zips up his bag. He feels Steve’s eyes on him as he shoulders through the door.

In the lobby, Rebecca’s worrying a hole in her gloves and it’s so familiar an action it hits like a punch to the gut. She stops when she sees him, but there’s still a fine line between her eyebrows. He approaches slowly.

“Hey, punk,” she says, rubbing his hair fondly before scrunching her nose. “Ew. I forgot. Helmet hair.”

“Hey, Becks,” Bucky says, and they start toward the car. She’s not telling him something, he can tell; her shoulders are just slightly more tense than usual. When she carries that stress in her shoulders, that’s when it’s important. He finds himself dreading the car ride.

Mrs. Rogers’ car is at the curb, and he half wants to jump in. They keep walking.

“Don’t want to say hi?” Rebecca asks. He shakes his head. “Everything okay? You love the Rogerses.”

“Just peachy,” he replies, and wonders when it’s ever been less peachy.

Rebecca unlocks the car and hefts his bag in the car without him asking. She’s got takeout in the front seat, which puts him more on edge; Chinese always meant a painful discussion when they were younger. It’s how they found out their parents were divorcing.

“Rebecca,” he says, staring at the takeout.

And she’s crying now, and he’s wishing he hadn’t said anything, and he’s about to cry because she is, and he hates this.

“I’m so sorry,” she says, and now they’re both crying. When they’re done talking the takeout is cold.

______

 

“Venti hot chocolate, no whip,” he calls to Sam, who grins and flicks a towel at him.

“Always better than smoothies, see that Romanoff?” Sam says gleefully.

Nat rolls her eyes from where she’s sitting on the floor.

“You guys still on that?” Bucky asks, amused. “I’d put my money on the pumpkin spice latte by this point, Nat.” Another customer steps up and he carefully keys in her order. His first day he accidentally ordered someone a grande something instead of the venti whatever, which hadn’t been a pleasant experience. Some people, he’d thought, needed to get coffee before they came in to get coffee. This time he doesn’t mess up. He says, “It’s in season now,” and Nat snorts.

“Smoothies are always in season,” she says.

“Yeah, but those berries aren’t always in season,” Sam says, “and who wants a smoothie with weeks-old berries in it? No one, that’s who. Now, a hot chocolate, on the other hand—”

Bucky’s been working with them since mid October. Ever since Rebecca came home and saw what she’d left him with and dropped out of college. She’s across the street now, waiting tables at Papa Vino’s before her shift at the bar by their house.

This week he’s gotten every shift he asked for. Thirty-five hours. Pepper from his French class, their manager, had told him she’s never had a schedule so hectic, which had led to a serious conversation about balancing work and hockey and school. She has soft eyes for him now at school.

He hadn’t told her he was probably going to drop out anyway. Too much needed to happen at home.

“—like a warm hug from a friend you haven’t seen in awhile, don’t you think Bucky?” Sam says.

“You should be an advertiser,” Bucky observes, and puts in the order of a blonde guy who looks exactly like Steve. The guy smiles and Bucky only presses the wrong button four times.

“Have you talked to him?” Nat asks in a low voice. She indicates the lookalike with her chin.

“I just took his order, Nat.”

“Not him,” Nat says impatiently. Sam pretends to dry a measuring cup, clearly listening. “Steve. He looks just like Steve.” Bucky shrugs. She points a spoon up at him and glares. “Don’t shrug at me, Barnes.”

“Are you threatening me,” Bucky says, laughing a little, “with a spoon?”

“Are you feeling threatened?”

“Not even slightly.”

“Trust me,” Sam says, “if she was threatening you, you’d know.”

Bucky says, “You’ve got firsthand knowledge, huh?” and Sam’s blush is a red tint on his dark cheeks. Bucky stops him before he can reply. “I don’t really need to know.”

“It’s not like that,” Nat says, while Sam splutters. She examines the spoon. “We’re not a thing.”

Huh. “What?”

Sam clears his throat and loudly says, “Hey, Steve.”

And Bucky’s heart’s crashing in his chest and he spins around. And he glares at Sam, who’s doubled over, because it’s Fury, not Steve. Nat says something like “Should’ve seen your face” and Bucky says, “Hey, Coach. What can I get for you?”

Nick Fury’s scary on the best of days. Today he’s menacing, though Bucky thinks it’s probably well-intentioned. “You haven’t been at practice,” Fury say, and he doesn’t need a spoon to be intimidating.

“Um. Family stuff,” Bucky offers weakly. Nat tugs at his pant leg, and he ignores her; he hasn’t said anything about it to them. Or to anyone, actually.

“I asked Steve, and he’s saying you haven’t been speaking.” Bucky fidgets. “What’s wrong, son?”

Bucky flinches at that. He hasn’t been called that in ages, and hearing it from Fury feels _wrong._ “I don’t want to be rude,” he says softly, eyes closed, “but there’re people waiting behind you, and I need to do my job.”

Fury nods slowly. He scans Bucky’s face, and Bucky forces his expression into resignation (vocab word).

“If that’s what you need, Barnes,” Fury says measuredly. He steps out of line and strides to the door. Bucky watches him call someone on the phone, and rubs his temple.

“No,” Bucky says, interrupting Sam’s “Do you want to talk—”, and the three of them finish their shift in relative silence.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Pegs: Doing anything tonight?

Me: Cleaning, passing out candy

Pegs: Oh. I was going to ask if you wanted to come over, Nat and Sam are bringing Clint ‘round

Me: Can’t

Pegs: Okay

Me: …

Me: Is Steve going to be there?

Pegs: …probably

Me: …

Pegs: Want me to tell him anything?

Me: Nah. Happy Halloween, Pegs.

Pegs: You too, Buck

______

 

Halloween used to mean skipping along the street with Steve, who was usually wearing a superhero costume. Sarah and Joseph usually matched each other with a punny costume; last year they wore Spiderman costumes underneath button up shirts and khakis and told everyone they were ‘web designers’. Bucky’s costumes were usually last minute and made with duct tape and Sharpies, but Sarah and Joseph always swore they were brilliant, and Bucky always thought now nice it was of them to lie.

Halloween this year means finally cleaning the bathroom like he meant to ages ago and cheesy movies with Rebecca and pizza. They’re finally getting the house back to how it used to look before she went to college.

He’s wandering through it, still. Through the house. Like he’s going through a fog. He doesn’t know if that’ll ever change.

“Bucky?” Rebecca calls.

“Almost done,” he says. He’s only got the bathtub left to clean now, and his hands smell like lemon bleach. The ‘natural’ kind of bleach, or so Rebecca claims.

The bathroom door creaks and Rebecca pokes her head in. Her dark hair contrasts sharply with the peeling light blue walls. “Not that, you’ve got people at the door.”

The cement mixture is back in his stomach. “Who?”

“They’re dressed as the Avengers,” she says with a shrug. “The comic book heroes, not your hockey team. I mean I’m pretty sure one of them’s on your team, but they’re Captain Australia, White Tarantula, the sharpshooter guy.”

“That’s not their names, Becks,” Bucky says. His arms are numb.

He balances the sponge on the bathtub rim and follows her down the short hallway. Her laptop’s open to Spotify, and The Young Veins fill the kitchen. She’s stuck a picture of the two of them to the fridge and she’s got cookie dough on the counter and he’s noticing these things to keep from freaking out because Steve—

“Hey,” Rebecca says softly. She leans against the counter. “You don’t have to see them, I’ll tell them you’re sick.”

Bucky says, “It’s fine,” and picks up the candy bowl. “We’re low on Reese’s.”

“I know nothing about that,” she says. “You’re stalling.”

“Maybe.”

He doesn’t move. Rebecca gives him six seconds before nudging him toward the door. He takes a deep breath before swinging it open.

“Bucky!”

And relaxes, because Steve isn’t there.

They’re all wearing costumes like Becks said. Peggy’s wearing something like a 1940s female commanding officer, wearing an all-green skirt and jacket ensemble that she somehow makes work extremely well. It sets off her lipstick just enough. Nat has on something like Kim Possible’s black shirt and cargo pants. She points a hairdryer at him mock threateningly and he laughs for the first time since Fury showed up at work and she’s so pleased she taps Sam to make sure he noticed. Sam grins at her from underneath his mask. Sam and Clint are dressed as animated characters too, Sam as Frozone and Clint as Dash from _The Incredibles_. Bucky can’t even see Clint’s hearing aids.

They all four bombard him with information (“I’ve been sitting on the bench,but Fury’s not letting me play yet”) and questions about why they’ve never been invited over, don’t you know it’s right next to the rink, or at least a few blocks away, and they tell him about the Rogers’ couple costume (“They’ve dressed up as Life cereal, they’re giving out lemon-flavored candy, they’re going to get egged”).

There’s a pause. “Where’s Steve?” Bucky asks. He sounds a little too interested in the answer and he mentally curses himself when they all exchange a Look.

Peggy says, “He’s down the street, he thought—um, that you didn’t want to see him.”

Bucky shakes the candy bowl to distract from the fact that she said ‘um’ and that he misses him more than he’d miss his left arm. “How is he?”

“Not too bad,” Clint says. “Had his eleventh game the other day. He misses you, he doesn’t shut up about you at practice, Tony’s starting to get annoyed.” Nat elbows him, hard. “What?”

“Do you guys want candy?” Bucky asks, eyes squeezed shut. “Here, just—take the bowl, why don’t you, I’ve got to go—” He shoves the bowl at Peggy and eases the door shut.

“Bucky, we can’t possibly—please don’t—”

“You alright, man?”

“Wait, just text him, okay—”

“Bucky I’m sorry I shouldn’t’ve said—”

The door closes.

Rebecca says, “You okay?” and he shakes his head. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Nah,” Bucky says.

She wordlessly hands him a beater covered with cookie dough and they wait for the cookies to bake. She squeezes him close in a one-armed hug.

The cookies melt in his mouth.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Steve Rogers: Peggy told me what happened

Me: _(read at 10:03 PM)_

Steve Rogers: I gotta talk to you

Me: _(read at 10:10 PM)_

Steve Rogers: I can see you reading these please text me back

______

 

Nat’s birthday rolls around November fifteenth and he takes her ice skating. He wasn’t sure what else to get her; she’d been dropping hints about an arrow necklace, but he figured jewelry was more best friend/I’ve-had-a-crush-on-you-since-we-were-four territory. (Plus he knew Sam had already bought it for her.) He’d thought that her gymnastics training would help her balance on skates but she’s already wiped out approximately fifteen times, and they’ve only been at the rink for twenty minutes.

“You okay there?” Bucky asks, as Nat hops back to her feet. She’s got ice shavings all down her back. “That was a good one.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Nat almost trips again and grabs his arm. He slips and they both tumble to the ice.

“Sabotage,” Bucky groans. Cold soaks into his jeans.

A voice says, “That one was better, Nat,” and Bucky wants the ice to open up and swallow him. A familiar star-spangled glove comes into his field of view.

It’s unfair that they haven’t spoken since early September and that the first time they’re near each other (outside of school. Ms. Hill hadn’t let him switch seats in English class) it’s also the first time Bucky’s set foot in the rink since Becks crashed practice. It’s unfair that Steve looks cute with cold flushed cheeks, or that he’s clearly had the gloves for ages—his thumb peeks through a tiny hole—or that he’s wearing the puck earring Nat bought him. He’s wearing a hat with a stupid red pompom and it’s adorable and he hates it.

It’s unfair, and Bucky’s miserable, because he was hoping this crush would go away when they weren’t talking, but it’s only gotten worse.

Bucky takes his hand and Steve effortlessly pulls him to his skates. Bucky drops his hand as fast as he can, then helps Nat. She’s smirking in satisfaction.

He’s too tired for this. He had another thirty-five hours this week. “Nat,” Bucky starts, but she interrupts.

“You said you didn’t know what to get me. This is all I want from you.” She gestures between them. “Fix this.”

And she lands a perfect triple Lutz and skates away.

______

 

The Steak and Shake they always go to is only three blocks away from the rink. It’s an awkward walk.

Bucky keeps looking at the buildings they pass as if he’s never seen them, even though they’ve been the same for as long as he can remember. He kicks at a rock and lets himself wonder for a few minutes about where the rock came from; there isn’t any noticeably missing pavement nearby.

Eleven years of being around Steve Rogers is more than enough time for Bucky to know that he’s uncomfortable. He keeps clearing his throat and glancing at Bucky, then pulling down his hat and shoving his hands back in his pockets. Bucky ignores him as best he can. Which, admittedly, isn’t very well.

Nat texts him a picture of herself and Clint with the caption, “Are you okay yet?” Clint has cake smushed onto his face. He ignores that too.

“Was that Natasha?” Steve says finally. He looks down at Bucky shyly.

Bucky swallows. He hadn’t realized, but Steve’s taller than him. “Yeah.”

They walk another half a block before Steve says, “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” He can see the sign now.

“No, I mean…” Steve shoves his hands deeper in his pockets and his eyebrows crease. “I’m sorry, because you had something planned for Nat, and I’m ruining it.”

Annoyance bubbles up in his throat. He has to swallow it down. “It was a crap gift and you know it. I wanted to see the rink again.”

Steve shrugs and he’s gotten more muscular and Bucky kicks his rock again. “It’s not a crap gift. Maybe just…given to the wrong person.”

“Maybe.”

Pause.

They’re at the door now. Steve holds it open for him and Bucky forces himself not to think about how this would be if they were on a date. He’s got this stupid mental image of them sharing a sundae.

“Hey…” Bucky looks at him expectantly. Steve clears his throat again. “I’m sorry.”

They slide into their usual booth. “Why?”

“Because. I know you wouldn’t ignore me like that, if I hadn’t hurt you,” Steve says. He’s holding up his menu, but they both know he’s only pretending to read it. He gets the same thing (large Oreo cookie shake) every time. Their waiters only ever ask him for his order out of politeness now.

Bucky orders his usual blueberry pancakes and says, “It’s stupid.”

“Why’s that?” The crease is back between Steve’s eyebrows. He starts pinching off pieces of his napkin and for some reason this makes Bucky want to laugh helplessly.

“You were going to play high school hockey, and there’re people like Rumlow out there,” Bucky starts. He’s not making sense, confusion is written all over Steve’s face. “And he hurt Clint and you were so small when we played him last time—”

“Wait.” Steve holds up a hand. “You’re mad at me, because of Rumlow?”

“No, because you could hurt, Steve, you could get hospitalized, and what if it was worse than Clint, what if you forgot us?” His voice is getting shrill. He takes a sip of water. “And it’s stupid because you’re bigger and stronger now and you’ll be fine but you’re still that boy having an asthma attack in my head—”

Steve cuts in now, and his voice is gentle. “Hey, Buck, I’m fine. It’s okay.”

“You’re my best friend, but you’re always picking fights, Peggy told me you and Loki Odinson got in a fight about Mr. Stark’s physics class—”

“Bucky. I’ll be okay, okay? I’ve been playing check hockey as long as you have, and I haven’t had an asthma attack in three years.”

The waiter comes back with their ice cream and pancakes. Steve steals a bite of Bucky’s whipped cream and he doesn’t know why he says this, but—

“You’re taller than me.”

Steve laughs aloud. His mouth is pretty when he laughs. Even though he’s wearing that stupid hat.

______

 

**New Text Message**

The Falcon: you guys okay?

Me: Sam?

The Falcon: ‘tis me

Me: When did you change your name in my phone?

The Falcon: didn’t. what is it

Me: _(you sent a photo)_

The Falcon: falcon, huh? that’s Nat for you

Me: What does it mean

The Falcon: long story

The Falcon: are you guys okay?

Me: I think so

The Falcon: good

Me: yeah

______

 

They’re in Peggy’s living room again, and this time, Peggy doesn’t suggest blowing off studying for a Harry Potter marathon.

“Because finals are important, Steve,” she snaps, when Steve asks.

He still looks at her with a bit of admiration, which cuts Bucky apart, but it’s not as obvious as it used to be. They’d be good together. That hurts, too.

Bucky focuses on his French textbook. He’s not as worried for French as he is for English—Ms. Hill told them early in the year that their first final was going to have three essays on it—but it’s better, he thinks, to work on something easy at first. To build confidence.

“So are study breaks,” Clint says. He yawns and stretches out on the couch, resting his head in Nat’s lap. She threads her fingers through his hair absently as Sam quizzes her on history facts.

“Don’t try that, Barton, you haven’t even started yet,” Peggy says. Her tongue pokes out of the corner of her mouth as she scans the math notes she’s got spread over the coffee table. Her left hand is knotted up in her hair and she’s pulled out the majority of her curls. Not literally; her hair’s a lot frizzier than it was at school, though. She probably _could_ use a study break, Bucky thinks.

This house suits her. It’s filled with heavy books and old maps and decorated guns (Peggy showed him and Steve her dad’s collection the first time they came over) and it’s all in shades of green, cream, and brown. The front door and the door to her room are matching shades of bright red.

It suits her and it’s so busy it doesn’t seem to realize how busy it is. Steve looks up as though he hears Bucky’s thought and nods as if he agrees.

“Sam, Nat, and my finals are after break,” Clint says, yawning. He looks like he’s about to fall asleep. “No point starting now.”

“Sam and Nat are studying,” Bucky points out.

“They’re weird.” Nat thumps Clint lightly on the head. He sticks his tongue out at her.

Peggy says, “Yes, well, ours are before, and we need to be on top of them this year; Sharon’s been asking my dad and he said we can go on vacation if we get straight A's.”

“That’s still so weird,” Sam mutters. Bucky agrees.

Peggy nods absently. “Indeed.”

Steve drops his English notes on the carpet and dramatically falls onto his back. Nat answers Sam’s next question with a smile tugging at her mouth. Peggy looks up, slightly annoyed.

“Yes, Steven?”

Steve rolls onto his stomach and his shirt catches a little. There’s a strip of skin there that Bucky kinda really wants to kiss someday.

He shakes his head and turns the page.

“Yes, Margaret,” Steve says in a lofty British accent. “I was wondering if you’d do me the pleasure of allowing me a glass of your finest apple cider.”

“I don’t talk like that,” Peggy says, rolling her eyes, but she goes to the kitchen anyway.

Steve moves so quickly Bucky almost misses his movement. Nat and Sam drop their notes and look at him expectantly. Clint somehow manages to slump into an upright position.

“Okay,” Steve says quietly. “Hide your notes.”

“Or, put them in your backpacks,” Bucky says, but he does as Steve says. Steve gives him a small smile.

Sam says, “What’s the plan, Cap?” and Steve’s chest puffs out a little further. Nat notices Bucky noticing and winks at him, while Clint, seeing their exchange, tilts his head in confusion.

“Simple. We hide her notes and put in Harry Potter and remind her that we have three weeks before our finals.”

Clint says, “Is this what you guys do every time you hang out?”

Nat shrugs. “Sometimes there’s more ice cream.”

“Anyone want anything else?” Peggy calls. Steve makes a _hurry/wrap it up_ motion with his hands and mouths, _Stall her._ He grabs her notes and frantically looks around the room.

“Ice cream?” Sam and Clint ask, rummaging through the Carters’ movie collection. Nat rolls her eyes and fiddles with her arrow necklace. It’s got a tiny bird feather on it.

Nat notices Bucky notices and he raises his eyebrows pointedly. She goes deadpan, ignoring her blush. He smirks.

Steve spins around the room, the papers in his hands fluttering, and almost falls on the coffee table. He plants his hand on Bucky’s head for stabilization—Bucky scowls at him—and says, “Any ideas?” under his breath.

There’s a little cupboard under the TV. Bucky shakes Steve’s hand off and points as Sam runs to put _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_ in the DVD player.

Peggy comes back with a little tray crowded with ice cream bowls and apple cider glasses right as the title scene comes on the TV. Her mouth thins into a hard line.

“I said no,” she says. The lights come up over Privet Drive.

“Peggy, we’ve got three weeks until finals,” Steve says bracingly. Somehow her mouth thins even more. It’s terrifying. She looks exactly like Ms. Hill when Tony mouths off in class.

Clint yawns. Nat, leaning on Sam, rubs his shoulders and says, “Pegs, you need a break. You’re working too hard.”

“But Europe…”

Bucky takes a bowl of ice cream. “Peggy, your family goes to London every Christmas anyway.”

Peggy sits and leans against the couch and sighs. “No, I mean _Europe._ Dad’s taking us on a tour of Europe if we get A's.” Nat rubs her shoulders too. “I’ve only really seen England. Dad’s work let him travel, but Mum and I had to stay behind.”

There’s an awkward silence. Steve and Bucky look askance (vocab word) at each other.

“You’re smart,” Sam says. Peggy laughs a little hollowly. “No, listen. You are. You’re gonna crush these exams. But right now, you need a break, and you’ve gotta let yourself take that break.”

“You’re right,” Peggy mutters. Sam brightens, and she stops him before he can speak again. “Don’t let it go to your head, Wilson.”

Nat plays with Peggy’s hair. Bucky crawls over to them and puts Nat’s hand on his head and she laughs and plays with his hair too.

“Getting long,” she comments.

Bucky says, “Hockey hair.”

“I like it,” Steve says. He lies down on the carpet, and Bucky likes it, too.

______

**New Text Message**

Becks: How’d it go today?

Me: Not too bad

Becks: :)

Me: How’s Mom?

Becks: She came into the kitchen today

Me: Good

Becks: Yeah. Let me finally do her sheets and cut her hair

Me: Good!

______

 

“How’d you do?” Steve asks, bumping Bucky’s shoulder as they go into the hallway. He’s got pen marks on his ear. It takes everything for Bucky to not rub the ink away.

“Not too bad,” he says. “Not sure about that _Of Mice and Men_ essay, but otherwise not too bad. You?”

Steve shrugs. He smiles a half smile. “Not too bad.”

And it’s not too bad. Bucky’s hand grazes Steve’s, and Steve glances at him, and his smile softens. It’s pretty good, actually.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Pegs: I failed Bucky I failed math was horrible

Me: Peggy, take a deep breath

Pegs: I am I am I promise I’m thinking rationally I just know I completely failed

Me: Pegs. In and out

Me: _(you sent a GIF)_

Me: This is supposed to help regulate your breathing, breath in time with the movement

Me: *breathe

Pegs: _(read at 7:07)_

Me: Where are you?

Pegs: Home

Me: Stay there

______

 

Sarah doesn’t ask questions when she pulls up. Steve yanks the door open, and they’re off.

______

 

The bright red door looks streaky in this light. Bucky and Steve bolt from the car, backpack hitting Bucky’s shoulders with each step, and they slide a little in the mushy snow on the sidewalk.

“What time should I pick you up?” Sarah asks.

“I’ll text you!” Steve calls over his shoulder, and to Bucky’s amazement Sarah nods and drives away.

Bucky pounds on the door. “Peggy!”

The door opens, and a tall, elegant man with Peggy’s eyes and cheekbones stands in the doorway. Bucky almost socks him in the stomach, but Steve catches his arm just in time.

“You must be James and Steven,” the man says smoothly. “I’m afraid I’ve never made your acquaintance. Must have been away on business.”

“Um,” Steve says intelligently. Bucky elbows him; they’d already decided that Steve would be the best spokesman. For some reason parents never seemed to trust Bucky, what with his long hair and proclivity (vocab word) for odd bruises. He didn’t have any today, or recently—they’d faded out ever since he stopped hockey—but it was better to be safe than sorry, as Rebecca always said.

“Steve,” Bucky mutters. Mr. Carter folds his arms, visibly unimpressed.

“Um. We were wondering—is Peggy in?”

“My daughter is currently studying and is not to be disturbed,” Mr. Carter replies frostily. His tone is colder than the temperature. Bucky hates him a little.

Steve’s face falls. “Oh. Okay.”

Mr. Carter closes the door slow enough not to technically slam it. Bucky kicks a huge mound of snow and swears violently; it’s a huge cement pot.

Steve, meanwhile, taps away furiously at his phone. Bucky peers over his shoulder, toes throbbing. “Is that Peggy?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “She’s saying we should just go home.”

Peggy’s house is three stories tall. It has balconies, a pool, and a stone wall taller than them. The bushes surrounding it aren’t tall enough or strong enough to be useful. Bucky’s pretty sure there’s a groundskeeper’s hut (Mr. Carter would probably say ‘cottage’) around somewhere, and Peggy mentioned at some point that there were German shepherds guarding the fence along with a security system.

But Bucky’s backpack has a rope ladder in it, and those cone dog toys you put peanut butter in, so he’s smiling when he says, “Too bad we aren’t.”

“Too bad,” Steve agrees, and Bucky could kiss him then.

They take off for the furthest corner of the wall and Bucky’s thinking this, this high, must be how the universe feels.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Pegs: You complete and utter nitwits

Stevie: Love you too

Me: It worked, didn’t it?

Pegs: It did

Pegs: I meant nitwits as lovingly as possible

Pegs: *You complete and utter nitwits <3

______

 

“Well, thank goodness that’s over,” Bucky says to Sam and Natasha as he puts on his apron. This time, Sam’s the one sitting on the floor; Bucky found out after Fury left that Nat hadn’t been working that shift, so after she got away with being back there they all three took refuge there during stressful weeks. There was something very calming about watching other people work and deal with stress and not have to do anything about it.

Nat’s mixing a drink as she says, “Finals finally finished?”

“Yeah. Nice consonance, by the way.”

“Show off,” Sam says, and flicks Bucky’s leg.

Bucky orders a woman who looks very strongly like Sam a mango carrot smoothie and says, “That’s one for you, Nat,” and her eyes light up.

“About time,” she says.

It’s a short line today. Bucky gets everyone settled and ordered within ten minutes. Glancing at the door and seeing no one, Bucky squats next to Sam.

“Okay,” he whispers. “Spill.”

Sam says, “What?”

Natasha’s intently mixing the penultimate (vocab) coffee, so Bucky says, “You and Nat.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” Sam insists. Bucky narrows his eyes at him, and Sam opens his wider and flutters his eyelashes innocently. “Promise.”

“Uh huh. We have a bet going, Peggy and Steve and me, about when you’ll finally ask her out.” Sam goes bright pink. He looks at Nat, and she smiles at him. Bucky continues, “Do me a favor? Wait ‘til after Valentine’s Day, okay?”

“Who’s saying Valentine’s Day?”

“Steve.”

Sam says, “Bit of a romantic, huh?” and this time Bucky’s the one who blushes.

“Little bit, yeah.”

______

 

**New Text Message**

Hawkeye: are you coming tonight?

Me: Who is this?

Hawkeye: Clint

Me: Why are you in my phone as ‘Hawkeye’?

Hawkeye: inside joke

Me: Not with me

Hawkeye: nope

Me: Natasha

Hawkeye: yep

Hawkeye: you coming tonight?

Me: Yeah

______

 

“How formal is ‘dressy casual’?”

Becks leans against his doorframe and observes the ruin. Bucky has every single pair of pants he owns (five) on his bed and every button up shirt (three) layered on top of them. He has two pairs of shoes, not counting the cleats, and neither of them seem like they’re ‘dressy casual’. It’s a tame ruin, maybe, but that doesn’t mean Bucky’s feeling any bit calm.

It’s only tame because he doesn’t have that many articles of clothing.

“Well,” Rebecca says, “I think we can eliminate the sweatpants, don’t you?”

Bucky frowns. “I thought that could be the ‘casual’ part.” That brings it to three pairs of pants.

“You really do need my help, don’t you,” she says with a fake, heavy sigh. She folds the sweatpants with quick, deft motions and sets them on his dresser. “Okay. So we’ve got two pairs of jeans and one pair of khakis. Out of these three, khakis are more ‘dressy casual’, so we’ll go with that.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. He thinks there’s a stain on the hem of the left pant leg, but ah well. If she doesn’t notice, then it’s fine. “What shirt?”

Becks looks at the selection, then at him. “Is this really all we’ve got to work with?” He nods. “Remind me to get you some more clothes for Hanukkah. Okay. Well.” She pauses, hands on her hips.

He’s not sure what she’s thinking. He’s got a green shirt, a white one, and a black one, and they all look good on him (he hopes).

“Do you have a sweater? A nice green, grey, or blue sweater?”

“I’ve got a black one,” he offers. He starts pulling open drawers. “I haven’t worn it in ages, but it should still fit—” He pauses, and laughs.

“What’s up?”

Bucky holds up the sweater for her to see.

She pokes it. “What happened to the sleeve? It’s all holey.”

“I have no idea,” he says. Figures, doesn’t it, that he’s going to his first ever Christmas party and Steve’s gonna be there in a brilliantly blue shirt, and Bucky’s gonna be wearing a sweater with holes in the left sleeve.

She tilts her head and says, “I’ve got an idea,” and she has to convince him to let him try it. “I swear, it’ll be fine. It’ll look like it was supposed to look like that, that sort of asymmetry is really in right now.”

“If you say so,” Bucky replies, and she whisks the sweater off to her room.

______

 

Sarah opens the door and pulls him into a hug and he hates himself a little for how nice it is, to be held like this. “Bucky! I’m so happy you could make it. We’ve got snacks and things out, dinner’s at seven, and they’re all in the living room.”

“Thanks,” he says, pulling away. She steps back to let him in the mudroom. It smells, he thinks, like the feeling of doing a perfect hockey stop, or how Steve does after Thanksgiving.

Sarah claps her hands together and says, laughing, “One more thing! Almost forgot. Watch out for the mistletoe!”

He smiles weakly at her. One more thing to worry about.

He’s relieved, though, when he realizes Sam, Clint, and Steve are essentially wearing the same sort of thing he is: khakis with a button up shirt and sweater. And Bucky was right, too, that Steve would be wearing blue, because Steve turns around with the brightest smile when he walks into the living room and his sweater brings out his eyes and _he’s wearing Bucky’s shirt_ underneath his sweater. He hadn’t even realized Steve still had it.

“Nice of you to make it,” Clint says from the couch. He’s messing with his hearing aids again.

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. Bucky doesn’t think he imagines Steve looking him up and down, or that he bites his lip a little, or that he looks at him through his eyelashes when he says, “Really, really nice, Buck.”

And Bucky knows he doesn’t imagine it when Peggy and Nat exchange the biggest grins with each other and then with him over Steve’s shoulder. He’s warm all over, and that’s before noticing Steve’s earring is a sprig of mistletoe.

“What’s with the sweater?” Sam says, and Steve blushes and looks at his feet. Sam’s looking at Steve and his eyebrows are so high Bucky’s almost afraid they’ll fly away.

Bucky gives them the short version—that the left sleeve was a mess of holes and Rebecca fixed it by transplanting an old grey sweater sleeve where the original was—and Joseph calls them together for a photo.

Nat and Peggy corner him after the picture (he was next to Steve Steve had his arm around his waist for twenty seconds they kind of? held hands). They both look insanely pretty. Peggy lined her eyes with something to bring out the darker shades of brown, and her red lipstick’s a slightly darker shade than usual. Nat’s wearing eyeshadow and eyeliner and lipstick and it’s more makeup than he’s ever seen on her, but it works really well, and he doesn’t really understand makeup.

(They asked to give him a makeover once and he agreed and he regrets it and he doesn’t remember a lot of what happened. Purposefully repressed that memory.)

(He almost asked them to use eyeliner on him again. He hasn’t yet. He probably will; it makes his eyes pop, according to Nat, and he likes what it looks like.)

They’re color complementary; Nat’s dress is a dark green, while Peggy’s is dark red, and they both go together well, and he’s stalling because they’re looking at him expectantly.

And they both, he thinks, they both could be secret agents someday, because their questions are insistent and sharp and would be damaging, maybe, if they didn’t all love each other.

“You saw his earring?” Nat says finally, and she and Peggy laugh gleefully. “Be careful, Buck. Don’t stand too close.”

“Or maybe do,” Peggy winks.

Bucky catches Nat’s hand when she starts to head to the dining room. “What’re you going to do?” he asks.

“What d’you mean?”

“About Sam,” he says, his voice low. They both watch him talk to Steve and Clint by the cheese plate.

She doesn’t pretend not to know what he means. “I don’t know, Bucky,” she says, and he hugs her briefly. She’s a good hugger, too.

“Might want to think about it,” he replies. She squeezes his hand with a sad smile.

______

 

Bucky doesn’t really remember the last time he was full, and definitely doesn’t remember the last time he was full of good food. Sarah’s cooking has the comforting ability to warm you up on the inside, so it’s to no one’s surprise that the teens all end up lying on the floor in the basement after helping clean up.

Star Wars is playing after an argument and they’ve all got their head on someone’s stomach. Bucky’s is on Peggy’s, and she lazily leafs through his hair. It’d be relaxing if Steve wasn’t lying on him.

They’re friends first and Bucky doesn’t want to mess with that but. There’s got to be something friendly he can do, isn’t there? While Steve’s lying on him?

He decides to do what Peggy’s doing, playing with his hair. Shouldn’t be an issue, if she’s doing it; he and Peggy are just friends, after all. Steve’s hair is soft. It reminds him of their first sleepover, when he learned the word ‘hypoallergenic’.

Steve shifts and Bucky freezes. “No,” Steve says sleepily. He places his hand over Bucky’s. “No, I like that.”

Bucky explodes a little at that. Peggy pauses, taps a rhythm on his scalp to say she heard and would be winking but is too tired, and resumes twirling his hair.

Steve leaves his hand where it is a beat longer than necessary. Bucky worries he can feel his heartbeat through his fingers, but then he moves his hand, and Bucky plays with his hair again. He’s inexplicably (vocab) sad.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Becks: On my way. Be there in twenty

Me: okay

______

 

“My sister’s on her way,” Bucky says while the opening strains of _Return of the Jedi_ fill the speakers.

“Nooo,” Sam murmurs. Bucky jolts; he thought Sam fell asleep during _The Empire Strikes Back_.

Their circle devolved impressively. Nat’s sleeping on Sam’s shoulder on the couch while Peggy uses her thigh as a pillow. Clint’s curled up on the armchair and for a second Bucky worries he’s dead, but then he snores.

He’s been sitting with Steve on the loveseat. When they moved, Peggy smiled like the Cheshire Cat. He doesn’t know exactly how it happened but in the most technical of terms he and Steve are cuddling. As in, Steve not on Bucky’s lap, but being as close to him without actually sitting on him while fitting a little awkwardly against his chest. Bucky has an arm around his shoulder and Steve has an arm around Bucky’s waist and if you ask him who Leia or Luke or Han were, despite having seen the movies sixteen times, Bucky couldn’t tell you the answer. A side effect of Steven Grant Rogers being that physically close to him, Bucky thinks. His brain turns to mush.

He’s freaking out a little. His heart beats as fast as it does when he finishes a shift on the ice. There’s no way Steve can’t feel it, but he hasn’t mentioned anything, and Bucky has no idea what he’s thinking.

He’s not sure he wants to know.

Steve says, “I’ll walk you up,” in a hoarse voice. Bucky shivers.

“Okay,” he says. Peggy reaches out and squeezes his hand when they pass her.

Sarah and Joseph must’ve gone to sleep already. The only light on is over the sink in the kitchen. Bucky rubs his eyes and catches Steve watching him with an expression Bucky’s only seen shadows of.

“I,” Bucky starts, then stops.

Steve takes a step closer to him. “What, Buck?”

“I,” he says, “I don’t know what I was going to say.”

Steve ducks his head shyly and says, “I like your sweater.”

“Thanks.” He doesn’t let himself think before— “I like your earring.”

“I um. I hoped, maybe, that you would,” Steve says softly.

They’re very, very close to dangerous ground. Maybe they’re already there. This doesn’t feel anything like “Just Friends”.

Bucky moves toward Steve and reaches around to the back of his neck. Steve tenses under his hand.

“Your collar,” Bucky says, mouth dry. He smooths it out with fumbling fingers.

Steve swallows. Bucky sees his throat move in the halflight. “Thanks.”

He lets his hand linger on Steve’s neck (just at the base of his haircut he can feel prickly hair) (he thinks, maybe, he can feel Steve’s heartbeat) _(he’s freaking out)_ before pulling away.

Steve stops him. He threads their fingers together.

Steve’s holding his hand.

 _Steve_ is holding his _hand._

On _purpose._

Something in Bucky’s chest goes nova.

“Bucky?” Steve says, and he says it like it’s a question and an answer, all at once.

“Steve?”

Steve whispers, “Mistletoe.”

Bucky looks up. He doesn’t see anything. “Where?”

“Here,” Steve says softly, and taps his earring.

“Oh,” Bucky says, and then Steve’s closing his eyes and leaning and Bucky closes his and he’s never kissed anyone, so what if this is awful, and this is without a doubt not "Just Friends" anymore and—

“Is this okay?” Steve whispers. Bucky feels his breath on his lips.

“More than okay,” he whispers back, and—

And the lights turn on. Bucky opens his eyes and Steve swears and Bucky blinks at him, because Steve, swearing?

“Oh,” Joseph says. “I ah, was getting a drink—I’ll just be—yeah.”

Joseph shuffles past them, and of course the glasses are in the cabinet right behind Bucky, so he and Joseph make awkward eye contact. And then Joseph makes it worse because he says, “Ah, sorry for interrupting,” and he turns the lights back off but the moment is gone now.

Bucky feels the star in his chest collapse around itself. He’s feeling numb and full and scraped out at the same time and he can’t tell how that can be and Steve hasn’t looked at him, and he’s worried now, what if he hates him now?

Maybe his parents didn’t know his sexuality (Bucky doesn’t know his sexuality) (Steve’s, that is) (he’s pretty sure Steve is his sexuality) and now Steve’s gonna hate him, because maybe he was waiting for the right time?

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he checks it woodenly.

“My sister’s here,” he says lamely. Steve jerks his head in a motion vaguely resembling a nod.

Bucky pulls on his coat and ties his shoes in the mud room and puts his hands on his head. Fury taught them this, when they were younger and just learning to play; it opens up your lungs, helps you calm down.

Bucky desperately, dearly wants to calm down.

He goes back into the kitchen. Steve, head bowed, is leaning against the cabinet.

“Um,” Bucky says, and Steve’s head jolts up to look at him. “Uh, bye, then. Steve.”

But then Steve’s walking behind him to the front door and opens the storm door and pulls him into a hug and he's taller than him so Bucky's face goes into his shoulder. And over his shoulder, Bucky sees Rebecca yawning behind the wheel of their minivan, and her eyes widen when they meet his.

Bucky mouths _Tell you later_ (maybe) and then Steve sort of leans his head back and it’s not the moment they built up to in the kitchen, but Steve kisses him on the cheek, and Bucky closes his eyes and it’s sweet and perfect.

And then Steve says, “Happy Hanukkah, Bucky,” and ghosts a kiss over his lips, and Bucky _almost_ grabs his shoulders and kisses him.

But all he says is “Merry Christmas, Steve,” and almost falls getting in the car. He watches Steve watch them leave in the rearview mirror until he can’t see him anymore.

______

 

“So,” Rebecca says. She taps the steering wheel lightly.

“Absolutely not,” Bucky says.

Becks flicks on the turn signal. “I’m here, if you need me.”

“I know,” he replies. “Thanks.”

“What’re big sisters for?” She’s not looking for an answer—she’s smiling that smile that means she’s realizing he’s growing up, the one that's a little sad—so he turns up the music, and The Young Veins sing about this heart of theirs as they make the turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First things first: I didn't have Bucky as Jewish until I Googled it and apparently he isn't canonically Jewish, but I read a post (not gonna summarize because it references upsetting things) and the parallel seemed pretty well done, so that's my head canon. I don't have him as a practicing Jew. PLEASE tell me if I've written something problematic with his heritage; I'm not Jewish myself, and I absolutely don't want to offend anyone. Please please please let me know and I'll fix it. Thanks!
> 
> Second things second: The song I reference at the end is Heart of Mine by The Young Veins, who are a real (or were, they disbanded) band. I highly recommend their songs. One of my friends got me into them and they're brilliant and definitely check them out.
> 
> Third things third: Turns out this chapter is nearly half the length of the fic, which is interesting. I think I'm going to keep doing the years like this (as in, a summer, fall/winter, and winter/spring chapter per year). I promise I'll get Bucky back on the ice; this chapter took a turn I wasn't expecting and it got me interested. 
> 
> Fourth things fourth: This is going to take longer to complete than what I had originally planned. I do want to finish it by the end of January, but I'm going back to school and work next week, so no promises. It'll happen though I promise.


	4. Spring of Sophomore Year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for more swearing.
> 
> Also: vague A Series of Unfortunate Events spoilers? Not really (they're just character names, not plot points) but I don't know what you all would consider a spoiler, so light spoilers ahead.

Clint almost convinced him in the lobby, but he’d said, “Who’s gonna explain the game to Nat and Peggy?” and Clint had nodded and done a _see ya_ _later_ pair of finger guns like the nerd he is.

“You do realize, don’t you, that my uncle and I have watched and played and breathed hockey for the last eleven years,” Nat says now, her expression neutral. “And Peggy’s watched you play since freshman year.” Bucky follows her as the three of them and Sam make their way into the stands.

Peggy adds, “Not only that, but it was blatantly sexist.”

“Ah,” Bucky says, frowning. He plays his words again in his head. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t do it again,” they both say, and they all sit.

They’ve got good seats this game. It’s the first time he’s been back in the rink since Nat’s birthday in November, and though it had only been a month and a half ago, it had been _a month and a half ago._

It’s nice being here. They’ve got the heaters on, the ones that hang from the ceiling and point at the stands, so they’re all four pretty warm. Clint waves at them from the bench and they wave back and almost spill all of their popcorn on the parents below them.

The Avenger uniforms are red and blue with a white circle on the chest and grey stripes on the arms. He’s never really been sure why that’s the way they are, but they look pretty cool regardless. Team theory, last he knew, was that the grey stripes were because Fury had been a ranking officer in the army, but they had no idea what the circle was meant to be. It had a little triangle in the middle of it that also seemed pointless, but it glowed in the dark, which was actually exceptionally pointless but also kind of cool—

Calm down, he tells himself.

He can see the 18 on the back of Steve’s jersey, and his chest feels like the ice would after practice when they do their suicides. Full of ice shavings and deep cuts. He doesn’t know why.

Sam’s saying something about a job he had at the local zoo but Bucky can’t really hear him. Steve has a puck—the team’s taking their five minutes of warmup time—and is skating lazily around the back of Jim’s net, passing his puck from his stick to his skate and back. He’s gotten very comfortable on the ice in the months Bucky wasn’t watching.

And that sticks in his chest too. He’s missed out on a lot, taking drink orders at Starbucks.

“—s’why Nat calls me The Falcon sometimes,” Sam finishes. Peggy laughs.

“Wait, what?” Bucky says, jerking around to look at him. Sam shrugs. “I missed it?”

Sam says, “That’s what happens when you’re mooning over your boy there,” and Bucky could power a small country with what’s going inside him at that. _Your boy there._ “Miss the good stories.”

He hasn’t let himself think about the Christmas party.

That’s not true.

“Tell it again?”

The thing is, he’s replayed that shadow of a kiss so many times, he half believes he imagined it. His texts with Steve haven’t changed at all; every time Steve sends a heart he has to remind himself that he always sends them, to all five of them, that it’s not special (what sixteen-year-old boy uses hearts in his texts?).

“No,” Sam and Nat say. Sam narrows his eyes at her and she lobs a handful of popcorn at him and then Sam observes Bucky, clearly amused. “So he is your boy, then.”

Bucky ducks his head. Out of the corner of his eye Peggy smirks at him. “Why do you say that?”

All three of them exchange a Look. He sticks his tongue out and says, “I’m serious. Has he—said anything?”

Sam subtly tells him he’s not being subtle at all by quirking his eyebrow just slightly. “Do we wanna talk about the Christmas party?”

“Not even slightly,” Bucky says, lying, and Sam indulges him by saying, “After you left Steve almost fell down the stairs. And when he did trip over the last few steps he had this goofy grin all over his face.”

“You know how clumsy he gets when he’s happy,” Peggy says. “We all figured something happened.”

“Um,” Bucky says.

The buzzer echoes throughout the rink and he’s relieved and disappointed all at once and it settles curiously in his stomach. Fury calls them all in, all twelve of them, and Steve’s starry helmet is very easy to pick out from the rest.

He wishes he was playing. Then his heart wouldn’t be flipping like this. He wouldn't be able to be distracted by Steve (he's so confident on the ice he skates so well) if he had to focus on the game too. He’s still gonna watch now, obviously; but now he’ll watching Steve, not the puck.

The three of them are still staring at him. He clears his throat pointedly and stares at the starting line.

“Who’s that?” Sam asks. “At left wing?”

“Gabe,” Bucky replies, then pauses. “Guess they had to move him up, he usually plays defense with me.”

Peggy bumps his shoulder. “You haven’t played in ages, Buck; he hasn’t played defense since the last game Clint played, remember?”

Nat’s hands ball up at the reminder. Sam, not looking, takes her hands and rubs out her fists. Bucky mouths, _Has it happened yet?_ and Peggy shakes her head distractedly.

Her attention’s been caught by something on the ice. “Look,” she mutters, pointing.

Bucky looks. And looks at her and looks again. “No,” he says slowly. “No, I thought they were playing a HYDRA team. Nat? Sam?”

“What?”

“I thought this was your school team?” His words shake a little and suddenly there’s too much space between him and the ice. Steve’s not tiny anymore, he’ll be fine, it’s okay—

Nat tilts her head and scans the ice. She’s reacting to his tone more than anything, but he can tell when she sees it because her eyes widen. Or, sees him. “It is, I don’t know why—”

And then she’s on her feet and Peggy grabs her arm and Nat hisses, “Let go, I’m gonna—”

And Sam wraps her in a hug and sits down, still holding her and saying “Shh, Nat,” and Bucky’s stomach feels like that cement mixture’s melting somehow. Clint waves frantically from the bench and gestures at the ice and his hands go to his hearing aids and it breaks something in him. If he’d only sat with him on the bench.

Bucky sits on his hands to keep from storming the ice because that’s Brock Rumlow, Rumlow’s facing off against Tony, and leaping onto the rink now would only give them a penalty, probably, and that’s the last thing they need right now, on top of everything.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Me: !!!!!

Hawkeye: fuck they’re freaking out i’m freaking out

Me: I’m coming over when the period ends

Hawkeye: fucking better what the fuck

______

 

The first period, everyone on the ice is tense. (Most people in the stands are too, reading the mood from the players, but everyone but the four of them relax around five minutes in.) There’s not much fluidity between his teammates’ offense; Tony, who used to play defense, drops at least five passes from Bruce before the period’s up. Rumlow’s getting to him, clearly.

Bucky scans the ice more freely when Steve’s on the bench. He tries not to think about it. Luckily, so far Rumlow and Steve are on alternating shifts, so they haven’t been on the ice together yet.

“It’s okay,” Peggy murmurs to Nat. She rubs her back and Bucky glances over at the movement. Nat’s eyes are red with angry tears, but she’s letting Sam rub the nail marks out of her palms.

“It’s not okay,” Nat says vehemently. Sam glares at Peggy and she glares back. “It’s really not, he shouldn’t be on the ice. I don’t want him that close to Clint.”

Bucky doesn’t want Rumlow that close to Steve, either. What he wants is to be on the ice and blocking them from ever seeing each other.

Peggy says, “Your hands,” and when he looks down his hands are tight fists. He shakes them out, and she leans into his shoulder.

“I’m going over to Clint after this period,” he says, putting his arm around her. She’s shaking a little. “You okay?”

Steve climbs over the boards and takes off chasing the puck down into their offensive zone. Bucky tenses.

“Cold. You okay?”

Bucky mutters, “I’ll be fine.” His lungs—heart? Other organ? He’s not a biology person—constricts painfully.

He’s so beautiful on the ice. It’s not fair. Bucky must have missed the last few practices when Steve became more comfortable with his speed and footwork. He used to be so difficult to watch, when they were playing; when they were younger Bucky always cringed when he went up against someone at the boards, he always looked like he’d be crushed. Now he looks like someone Bucky would worry about if younger Steve met him.

Bucky frowns. If someone with Steve’s height now played against Steve when he was scrawny, Bucky would’ve been concerned. That’s what he means. Steve fills out his uniform and pads too well now; his shoulders are broad under his jersey and his cheeks are all rosy, even from this distance, and it’s hard to see past him, not that Bucky’s trying. There’s a group of girls from their school—he sees Pepper and Sharon amongst them—sitting right in front of the boards, and they’re all talking about asking Steve to Midwinter and Bucky has to unclench his hands again, and he’s aware he’s distracting himself, but he can’t help it.

“Bucky, take me over there too, okay?” Nat says. She’s doing a good impression of Steve’s concerned eyebrows, but Bucky doubts she’s doing it on purpose.

“Not sure Fury will be okay with that.” He’s not sure Fury will be okay with _him_ going, actually, but that’s not up for discussion. He’s not staying this far from Steve or Clint when Rumlow’s this close to them both.

Nat smiles slightly, and it’s her _I know something you don’t_ smile, so they all look at her curiously. “He’ll be fine,” she says.

Bucky crosses his arms. On the ice, someone in a HYDRA jersey scores. First goal of the game. His nails dig into his bicep. “Why’s that?”

“He’s my uncle.”

______

 

The first period ends (it’s 1-0, HYDRA favor, they can come back from this it’s fine) with the buzzer right as Nat’s saying, “He’s not my biological uncle,” because Sam and Peggy are very carefully asking why Fury’s skin looks like the French coffee bean they sell at work when her skin is, well, not.

Now that he’s thinking about it, Bucky has a vague memory of a redheaded girl sitting on the bench while he and Steve were learning to skate ages ago. He shifts in his seat. “Was that you?” he asks. Nat raises an eyebrow. “When we were…five, I think? A girl used to watch our practices.”

“That was me,” she says. Sam rubs her back in large circles and she leans into his hand. She looks a bit like a cat, somehow. “He took me to a lot of your practices and games.”

“Huh.” To think, they’ve known of each other nearly their entire lives. “Wait. You knew us, at Starbucks.”

Her eyebrow travels further up her forehead. “We work together.”

“He means when you came over while we were talking about Rumlow,” Peggy says. Her eyes are out of focus; Bucky follows her gaze, and she’s staring dreamily at Gabe where he sits on the bench. Interesting; he files this away. “Remember? You almost decked someone.”

“I did not,” Nat protests. She stands up and stretches and Bucky watches Sam look away, the back of his neck pinkish.

Bucky stands too. “Nah, you did,” he says, and then says “see you later” to Peggy and Sam.

The ref blows a whistle, and both starting lines get into position around the faceoff circle while Bucky and Nat clamber down the bleachers. His stomach clenches; number 18 is at right wing, helmet as star spangled as ever. They’re on the wrong side of the rink to see Steve’s face, down at their defensive zone as they are, but Bucky knows Steve well enough to see that his right arm is just slightly too rigid on his stick, that his back is just a touch too straight. He’s tense.

They’re behind the net now, and Jim’s number peers at them through the netting. Bucky stops walking. “Nat?”

“What’s up?” She glances at him, then turns and studies him. “You okay?”

Behind her, the ref drops the puck and Tony loses the faceoff and comes tearing off after Rumlow. It looks like the puck goes through Nat’s head, the way Rumlow shoots it into the zone. He can see Steve’s eyes now and Steve’s too close to Rumlow and so is Clint—

There are too many things in his head. “Distract me?”

She studies him a bit longer and in that time Gabe and Bruce manage to get the puck to Steve on the boards. Rumlow starts after Steve. Bucky closes his eyes, swallows.

“Have I told you how Clint and I became friends?” He shakes his head. He feels her take his hands and lets her massage them open. It’s soothing. “It was at this rink. We were four. Nick took me with him to one of his practices—”

“Why’re you living with your uncle?”

“—not this story, he took me to his middle school practice. I don’t remember the team name, it was something about this guy Coulson? Anyway. I met him on the bench, his brother Barney was playing and their parents couldn’t pick Clint up until practice was over. And he was my age, and Nick has these nice, tiny pairs of skates and tiny sticks, and he strapped us up and let us skate around while they were practicing.”

Bucky frowns, and Nat says, “What?”

“Doesn’t sound safe.”

He imagines that she shrugs. “Probably wasn’t. We got really good though, better than a lot of them. And Clint had to come to all of Barney’s practices and games, and so did I, of course, because Nick had to take me with him—it’s all babysitter stuff, before you ask—and eventually we started hanging out at the travel games, and—” she laughs “—Clint got really good at getting the concession stand people to give us free hot chocolate, it was great. And then we started going to school together instead of just terrorizing the hockey moms, and here we are.”

“How’d the nickname start?” He squeezes her hand and she squeezes back before letting go. He puts his hands in his pockets.

“Clint’s an amazing shot, I don’t know if you’ve noticed; great eyesight, brilliant shooter, it was a pretty inevitable nickname,” she says.

He rubs his eyes and blinks at her. “I mean, not really,” he says, and would’ve said something else too but that’s exactly when Rumlow cross-checks Steve into the boards right in front of them.

Nat jumps and squeaks and if this had been any other moment Bucky would be teasing her relentlessly right about now. Instead he crowds the safety glass, heart going so fast it’d probably set an Olympic record, and it’s one of those rare cruel moments when you’re watching someone you love lying on the ground and you can’t do anything about it.

A whistle blows.

Steve’s on the ground, on the ice, and Bucky thinks frantically that he’s paralyzed or dead because he isn’t moving, he’s just lying there, and Rumlow looms over him with the sharpest self-satisfied smile he’s ever seen and then they make eye contact through the plexiglass and Rumlow’s smile twists sharper and meaner. Rumlow’s stare flits to Bucky’s clenched fists, to the panic staining his face, and leans over Steve’s head and his lips move but Bucky can’t hear what he’s saying. But he’s staring at Bucky the whole time and then he winks and then Bucky desperately wishes either to be on the ice or for Steve to be off it.

Nat grabbed his shoulder around the time the whistle blew, and she pulls him away from the safety glass. He turns on her and spits, “Let me go.”

Her eyes are wide but determined. “No,” she says. He throws his shoulder back in an attempt to dislodge her grip, but she holds on tighter.

Bucky snarls and turns furiously toward the ice and she has to take two quick steps to keep up. Steve’s on his knees now, and there’s Fury and the ref talking to him, and everyone looks concerned, not worried, and that’s until Bucky sees Gabe skate up to Rumlow and punch him in the face mask.

“No,” Nat breathes, but Bucky’s already slipping from under her grip and running to the bench.

Clint pulls him back before he can hop the boards and—help Gabe? Stop him? Definitely stop Steve from trying to separate them, which he’s doing now, but Bucky knows Steve and how this is gonna end and they’re friends, they are, he can’t let Steve get beaten up, not that he’s here too—

“Don’t,” Clint says. He wrestles Bucky’s arms behind his back and Rumlow throws down his gloves, and now someone with dyed silver hair tosses off his helmet, and Steve methodically unsnaps his helmet too while Gabe pushes the ref. And now all the players are trying to get close to the four of them to break them up and Bucky thinks he’s screaming at him, at Steve, but it’s so loud now that he can’t be sure of anything except that Rumlow looks like he’s been waiting to fight Steve for a long time.

Fury blows his whistle repeatedly and Bucky’s only thought before Steve hits Rumlow is, _This is going to be a shitload of skating drills._

The guy with the silver hair does what Clint’s doing to Bucky and holds Steve’s arms behind his back and it’s a worse pain than when Rebecca accidentally closed the car door on his finger, having to watch this. Rumlow shakes his hand out and grins and hits Steve right on the jaw. And again. And in the nose. Steve kicks at him but misses and Bucky screams as he falls. Rumlow’s skate comes dangerously close to Steve’s neck.

Fury finally manages to get an arm around Rumlow and practically throws him away from Steve and the silver guy. Steve looks like he’s crying blood but that’s just from his nose, hopefully, and those cuts on his jaw. Fury glares so murderously that the silver guy bolts back to his bench and Fury hoists Steve up, slinging an arm around his waist.

The refs are still blowing their whistles. And when Clint lets go of his arms, when Gabe and Fury and Steve get back to the bench, that’s when Bucky wipes his eyes on his sleeve.

______

 

The refs called the game and sent everyone to the locker rooms. Steve, Rumlow, Gabe, and the silver guy (whose name turned out to be Pietro Maximoff) got suspended for seven games, which is the majority of the season; Bucky knows he should be sad and upset about this, and he is, but he’s mostly grateful that that’s all that happened. Steve’s bruised and so is Gabe, but that’s it. No permanent damage. It could’ve been so much worse.

______

 

“You all should have finished reading _The Tempest_ by now,” Ms. Hill says. Tony opens his mouth to say something, but she cuts him off. “I don’t want to hear it, Tony, it was assigned three weeks ago. Now. We have an assessment next Monday, and I advise you look closely at the parent-child relationships revealed in the play.”

She says something else about Shakespeare’s background that Bucky probably should’ve been listening to, but he’s distracted by that cowlick on the back of Steve’s head. They haven’t talked about the fight, nothing other than that Steve’s fine and suspended and that no, Buck, he really doesn’t want to talk about it.

Honestly, they should probably talk about it, but it’s not like Steve owes him anything.

There’re a lot of things, really, that they should probably talk about. Bucky lightly kicks the wire shelf under his desk.

Steve turns enough to look at Bucky from the corner of his eye and give him what Bucky affectionately calls the _‘really?’_ eyebrows. Bucky leans forward and grins and does his best to ignore the bruise stretching nearly to Steve’s ear.

“…if I could have everyone’s attention, Steve, Bucky,” Ms. Hill says, and Bucky and Steve start. She hops onto her desk. “Thank you. Mr. Coulson asked me to remind you all about the Midwinter Dance on January twenty-first.” The classroom erupts into flurries of conversation; Bucky observes Tony and Pepper Potts studiously not looking at each other while definitely looking at each other.

Pepper and Tony. Huh.

Ms. Hill clears her throat and the noise quiets. “That’s a good eleven days away, so I don’t want to hear anyone talking about this during my class hours. English class is not, Ms. Foster, the time for you and Mr. Odinson to coordinate your outfits.”

Midwinter. Bucky taps his desk with his pencil eraser. He’d forgotten about Midwinter. He lets himself daydream about wearing a tuxedo without any holes in the sleeves and holding Steve’s hand and dancing, but then the bell rings and he pushes the thought down.

______

 

**New Text Message**

The Iron Lady: Has Ms. Hill talked about Midwinter with your class yet?

Me: ... Peggy?

The Iron Lady: Yes, Buck?

Me: No, it’s

Me: Never mind

The Iron Lady: What is it?

Me: Natasha

The Iron Lady: Ah. What’s my new contact name?

Me: _(you sent a photo)_

The Iron Lady: I suppose that’s flattering

Me: I’ll change it if you want

Me: I don’t get how she knows my passcode

Me: I’ve changed it like sixteen times

The Iron Lady: It’s fine, and she knows it because she’s Nat

Me: True

Me: And yes, she talked about it

The Iron Lady: Who talked about what

The Iron Lady: Oh right. Are you going to ask him?

Me: Nah

The Iron Lady: Why not??

Me: We haven’t talked about anything

The Iron Lady: The perfect time to sweep him off his feet

Me: But we’re friends. I don’t want to ruin that.

______

 

Saturday after Ms. Hill tells them about the dance Nat’s sick for their shift, so it’s just Bucky, Sam, Pepper, and a trainee named Darcy. Which, to be fair, is still a decently good amount of people to have behind a counter.

Bucky and Sam took over the register when Pepper and Darcy showed up, and in the span of fifteen minutes Darcy’s said “What happens if I press _this_ button?” at least thirteen times and Pepper has shaken her head in exasperation at least sixteen times. Bucky’s starting to worry that she’s gonna need a neck brace by the end of the shift. That, or she’s gonna murder him and Sam, because she keeps glaring at them when they laugh at something Darcy does.

“You were trainees too, once,” she hisses in an undertone while Darcy dismantles the espresso maker. Sam doesn’t even have a ready quip; he’s too busy laughing onto Bucky’s shoulder while Bucky takes a drink order. Pepper glares at them again before batting Darcy’s hands away from the machine.

They take their break at the same time. It’s a Saturday, sure, but their location isn’t super busy around three in the afternoon, so they go out into the alley separating the Starbucks from a locally owned bookstore.

They don’t usually hang out on their own—Steve and Nat are usually there too—but today they talk a little about hockey and carefully dance around the topic of the fight and Sam tells him about the time a chimpanzee stole his glasses while working at the zoo and how it convinced him to switch to contacts. They don’t talk about their home lives; Bucky can tell Sam wants to ask about his mom, but he never does, which is good. Bucky doesn’t think he could take that today.

Pepper calls them both back in and her hair is wet and soapy. Bucky stares, and Sam tries to keep a straight face. Pepper’s doing that thing she does when she’s silently fuming, the thing where she sucks in her bottom lip and flares her nostrils, and she tells them rather flatly that she’s taking a break. She’s probably going to lie down.

Darcy stands at a sink filled with soap bubbles and various cups. She smiles sheepishly.

Bucky says, “Erm,” but she interrupts.

“You go to AHS, right? America’s High School?” Bucky nods. “Thought so. I’ve seen you in the hallway.” She stares at Sam and Sam fidgets; she has very wide brown eyes. “Who’re you?”

Sam and Bucky look at each other. “Sam, we met earlier,” Sam says.

“No not that, where’re you from?” She starts overenthusiastically washing a pan that Bucky’s never seen before. Soap bubbles fly up into her hair.

“I’m at HYDRA,” Sam says. He folds his arms. “You’re at AHS?”

“Yup! Freshman, good times, you guys going to the dance?”

Bucky takes down the order of a man with impressive eyeliner and says, “Maybe.”

Sam smiles and says, “Yeah? And who are you taking, Barnes?”

“Erm.”

Darcy splashes more water onto the floor. “People have already started asking people, might wanna get a move on Buckio-bean.”

Sam mouths _Buckio-bean?_ and Bucky glares.

She continues, “My friend Jane—do you know Jane? You probably do she’s smart and funny and perfect—told me that Pepper told her that Sharon Carter asked Steve, who’s your  friend right? He’s so pretty I’m jealous, it’s not fair his eyelashes are so long—”

“What did Steve say?” Sam asks, clearly forcing the words out, which is good because Bucky can’t seem to say anything at all. _Sharon Carter asked Steve_ is repeating at announcer-level volume in his head.

“Well we all know Sharon’s kind of a goddess, she’s gorgeous _and_ intelligent, _obviously_ he said yes,” Darcy says.

There’s a _snap_ sound; Bucky looks down. He’d crushed a stirring stick in his hand while she was talking. Sam asks if he’s okay with a faint eyebrow twitch and Bucky shrugs and throws out the stick and the cement mixture creeps back into his stomach.

______

 

Peggy bumps his elbow and says, “I’m sorry, Buck,” in an undertone.

He shrugs. The gym is too loud right now to try and have any conversation, and especially too loud to talk about feelings. On the court in front of them, Sharon sets the volleyball perfectly to Jane Foster, who spikes it and scores. Steve whoops. Bucky glares.

“I really am sorry,” Peggy says, but Bucky says, “This is a scrimmage, right? The season’s over. Why’re they so intense?”

He’s addressing Peggy, but Steve answers. “Sharon’s really competitive, she wants a good team next year.”

Bucky scowls; the way Steve says Sharon’s name is the exact way he said Peggy’s last year when he had a crush on her. He’s never said Bucky’s name like that. “When have you two ever actually talked?” Bucky asks.

“She’s in my art class,” Steve says with a faint blush. Bucky viciously picks at the peeling paint on the bleachers. “We were partnered up earlier. Teacher said we work well together.”

“Just wondering. Because, you know, you’ve never actually talked about her, so.”

Peggy elbows him and raises her eyebrows sharply. Bucky ignores her.

Steve says tightly, “I don’t owe you every little thing about my life, Buck,” and Bucky would be leaving right now if Peggy hadn’t put a hand on his arm and squeezed and said, “Guys.”

“What?”

“Shut up.” She massages her temples.

“Sorry,” they mumble at the same time. They look at each other and quickly look away. Bucky’s nails press sharply into the palm of his hand when light reflecting off Steve’s earring flashes across his face.

_I don’t owe you every little thing about my life, Buck._

The scrimmage ends with Sharon’s half of the team winning. Bucky, Steve, and Peggy wait for her outside the girls’ locker room—which smells like perfume and flowers, even after their game, how—in silence. It’s awkward. Peggy keeps trying to catch Bucky’s eye, but he’s staring at the ‘e’ on the 1944 Girls’ Volleyball Championship trophy.

“Hey, you,” Sharon says when she finally pushes open the door, and if there was a trash can nearby Bucky would be vomiting. _Hey, you?_ Really? She slides her arm around Steve’s waist, and he looks at her in surprise, but in the kind of surprise that doesn’t discourage what’s happening. She continues, smiling and looking at him through her eyelashes, with, “Like what you saw?”

Bucky’s grateful when Peggy mimes throwing up behind their back.

His smile slips when Steve says, “I did.”

If he didn’t know better, Bucky would say that the tone Steve’s using right now, his flirtatious one, is similar to the one he used at his Christmas party. There’s a vulnerability (vocab) to “I did” that feels close to how he said “Mistletoe” before they almost kissed in his kitchen. Uncertainty mixed with hopefulness, that’s what his words are saying.

_I don’t owe you every little thing._

It’s not the same, of course. Steve and Sharon will get married and have blonde children and a big house with a fence and a pool too, probably, and Bucky’ll never hear him say anything to him in that voice.

(He’s being over dramatic. He knows that. But it’s nice, sometimes, to let the bad mood happen instead of fighting it.)

“—you hurt each other,” Peggy’s saying, wearing her _take no shit_ expression, “I swear to everything that’s holy, you _will_ regret it.”

Sharon rolls her eyes and says, “Okay, Auntie,” but the serious look on Steve’s face cracks something in Bucky’s chest.

“I won’t hurt her,” Steve says earnestly. For a split second, Steve and Bucky make eye contact, but then Steve looks back at Sharon and Bucky looks down.

 _I don’t owe you (any)thing,_ and that’s it, that’s the last thing for today.

Bucky mumbles a goodbye and leaves.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Natalia Romanova: Peggy caught me up theu’re legitimately dating?? O_O

Natalia Romanova: *theyre

Natalia Romanova: !!! *they’re

Me: Looks like it.

Natalia Romanova: >:|

Me: It is what it is.

Natalia Romanova: Are you okay?

Me: Peachy.

Natalia Romanova: I’ll beat her up for you.

Me: Please.

Natalia Romanova: On it

Me: I’m kidding

Natalia Romanova: _(read at 6:07 PM)_

Me: You know that right

Natalia Romanova: _(read at 6:10 PM)_

Me: Nat? Tell me you know I’m kidding

Natalia Romanova: I know <3

Natalia Romanova: ;)

Me: The winky face isn’t reassuring

Natalia Romanova: :p

______

 

The problem with hating Sharon Carter is the fact that she’s not inherently (vocab) hateable. Like, Bucky could hate the way she looks up at Steve because of the height difference, but Bucky’s shorter too, and he loves the height difference. Or he could hate how their hands fit together incredibly well, but he’s jealous of that, and you can’t really be jealous of something and hate it at the same time. He could say something biting about the way she laughs at Steve’s jokes, but Steve lights up when she does, and Bucky loves the way his face looks when he’s laughing.

That’s not saying he hasn’t avoided her when he can. He has. She came into Starbucks Tuesday with Steve while he was working and he made Darcy take the order, which turned into a huge mess that nearly made everything in the café shut off and reset. It was worth it, though.

“It doesn’t make that much sense,” Peggy says the Wednesday before the dance. They’re at the Steak and Shake with Nat, Sam, and Clint and it takes everything in Bucky to not look at the booth he usually shares with Steve.

Peggy continues, “It’d be one thing if they had anything in common. Sharon hates drawing, my father bought her a sketchbook for Christmas and she’s never used it.”

“They’re both pretty,” Clint says. Sam raises his eyes. “Guys can be pretty, Wilson. Steve’s pretty. You’ve seen his eyelashes.”

Nat loudly slurps her milkshake. “Has anyone seen him recently? Thought he was gonna be here.”

“He was, Sharon has another scrimmage today,” Bucky says moodily. He pinches off pieces of his napkin, but this reminds him of Steve and he balls the napkin up instead.

He doesn’t miss the nonverbal exchange between Nat and Peggy at his tone. He stabs his pancakes.

“Hey man, you okay?” Sam asks tentatively. “You seem a little on edge.”

“I’m fine.”

Peggy places her hand on his and asks in a low voice, “Is everything okay at home? With your mom?”

Bucky sighs. “She’s doing a lot better. She’s been cleaning a lot, her room’s a lot nicer.”

Rebecca sent him a video after school of her and their mother singing and dancing around the kitchen, and even if their mother’s hair was a little greasy and her clothes a little stained, she was moving again, and singing, and that’s the happiest he’s seen her since his dad left.

“That’s good,” Sam says. He steals a forkful of Bucky’s whipped cream and Bucky shakes his head.

“When’s your Midwinter?” Bucky asks, searching for an easy subject change. Nat flushes slightly and she notices him noticing and sticks her tongue out.

“Same as yours,” she says.

“Are you going?” Peggy asks, grinning, and Nat blushes darker.

But then Sam and Clint tense and focus on their plates and Bucky knows how they feel.

“Um, with Bruce, actually,” Nat says, “it came out of nowhere, but we’re going to HYDRA’s. I felt too bad to say no.”

“You don’t like him?”

Nat says, “Not really. I’m a little—torn, at the moment,” and Sam and Clint both smile a little, and there’s a creeping suspicion that maybe this won’t end well crawling up Bucky’s arms.

“I thought you were working with me Friday?” Bucky asks. He takes another bite of his pancakes.

“Pepper’s letting me switch with Darcy,” Nat says, and shrugs. “I dunno. It’ll be fun, hopefully.”

Clint shakes his head. “If he hurts you, Barney and I’ve got bags of hockey gear at home, so just let us know.”

“Thanks,” Nat says, and leans into his shoulder. Bucky watches Sam’s face go through several different emotions before settling back into impassive. Peggy noticed too, and she does her version of Steve’s worry eyebrows.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Me: They both have a thing for her this isn’t gonna go well

The Iron Lady: Nope!

______

 

Darcy asks him exactly twelve times in ten different ways in five minutes why he isn’t at the dance during their shift and somehow can’t seem to hear his “Didn’t feel like it” no matter how loudly he says it. Finally, after the thirteenth time, he scribbles “Stop asking Darcy” on a napkin and pins it to his apron.

“Grumpy today,” she says when she notices. He ignores her. “You know, Jane always says when someone’s grumpy, what they need is a warm cup of tea. You should get some tea.”

“She doesn’t say that,” Bucky says, mixing a drink. He has no idea if Jane Foster says that or not—he doesn’t know her that well, even though they’ve been in the same class for ages; he knows Thor better, but just because his name is _Thor_ and that tends to attract attention—but with Darcy, it’s usually better to stop her before she really gets going.

“No she really does, she told me that the other day after my dye job didn’t come out right, it’s more a purple obsidian than violet melanite—she’s a natural science freak, she’s making me learn all these random rocks—that’s not true I’m learning them because I want to—well because I want to impress her, you get it, she’s so cool—”

Bucky groans so loudly that she stops talking and stares at him. Finally. He smiles a wide, clearly fake grin and calls out the drink order. But then he starts thinking about Steve and Sharon and their matching blue outfits and he’d give anything for Darcy to start talking again.

He pulls out his phone the second the line dies down. It’s 9:43 right now. Nat sent him a picture of herself and Bruce right before his shift started at five, and Bruce looked so clean and fancy Bucky almost didn’t recognize him. He’ll think about their Midwinter, hopefully that’ll help. Nat and her curly hair and green dress and Bruce with his green tie and her awkward smile and his beaming face.

9:43 and the dance goes until 11, so they’re probably fully pumped up by the music about now. An image of Steve and Sharon dancing very close to each other crops up in his mind and he mentally scowls at it.

They look good together. Sarah put twenty-five picture of them up on Facebook and Sharon’s dress is exactly the color of Steve’s eyes. Bucky has to talk himself into liking it. Peggy’s in the background of a few of them, making faces at the camera behind their backs, and it’s so much easier to like those ones. He smiles at Peggy giving Steve bunny ears. There’s a good one of her and Steve and Sharon laughing in the Rogers’ mudroom (naturally cleaned up for the picture, Sarah put those clear white Christmas lights up over the windows, it’s the prettiest he’s ever seen it look) and they’re standing almost exactly where he and Steve kissed.

They’re standing almost exactly where he and Steve kissed, or had a shadow of a kiss, and Steve’s arm is around Sharon, not him.

 _I don’t owe you,_ and he doesn’t. Bucky locks his phone.

Darcy’s saying something about “space gods from space” to a customer who looks like a professor. She tells Bucky he wants a smoothie, and Bucky closes his eyes briefly.

“On it,” he says, and puts Steve in that corner of his mind that hides things he doesn’t want to think about.

______

 

It’s solidly into February now, and Rebecca takes him skating during the rink’s free skate.

“You’ve been sad lately” is what she says when he asks why. “And I know part of it—maybe just a small part, but still—is because of missing hockey, so.”

Bucky smiles slightly. She knows him well.

Hockey isn’t the only thing, of course—he and Steve have devolved into hallway friends, in that they’ll say hi in the hallway and chat a little—but it’s enough of a thing, so.

Rebecca skates on figure skates despite his perpetual (vocab) teasing and she jumps and twirls and skates a circle around him. And he laughs, and it’s okay for now. They practice doing backwards crossovers and he only falls three times.

Eventually she takes out her phone and opens up the stopwatch app and times him speed skating from end to end, and it burns in his thighs. It burns in his thighs and scorches his throat when he exhales, and he’s laughing, and this, here, is how the stars feel, has to be.

It’s been too long, really has. Much too long.

Someone’s talking to Rebecca by the boards when he skates back to her. He looks familiar, for some reason; he’s got sandy hair under his hat, and when Bucky sees his face he looks like someone he’s played before, or played with.

“—rec leagues around, if you’re interested,” the guy’s saying. Bucky frowns; he sounds familiar, too.

“I’ve never played,” Rebecca says, and the guys smiles at her. Bucky leans on his stick.

“S’okay, a lot of people playing in the rec league haven’t,” the guy says. And then, with a wink: “I can show you a few moves, if you want.”

Becks goes bright pink and says “Oh yeah?” and Bucky clears his throat. The guy looks at him for the first time and makes a noise like “meaaag”.

“Hey,” Bucky says and deliberately skates in between them. “Who’re you?”

“Um, Bucky, this is Barney,” Rebecca says hastily, motioning between them. “Barney, my brother Bucky.”

Bucky smirks. _Barney? Really?_

But then, _Bucky? Really?_ and he frowns.

Barney holds out his hand to shake and Bucky realizes why he’s familiar.

“You’re Clint’s brother,” he says, and Barney grins.

Barney says, delighted, “You know Clint?” and Bucky nods.

They do one of those _we’re so cool_ handshakes, the handshake-to-a-pat-on-the-back ones, and Becks rolls her eyes.

“On my team.” Bucky pauses. “Or, was. I’m not playing right now.”

They tacitly slide past the “Clint was on my team, but then he lost his hearing” moment.

“You should be,” Barney says, crossing his arms. “You looked good out there. Speedy. Good footwork.”

“Just taking a break for the end of the year,” Rebecca says. “Focusing on school.”

Barney says, “That’s fair,” and Bucky feels a little bad for lying to him, but he shoves it down.

“Hopefully back on the ice for the summer though,” Bucky says.

“Good,” Barney says. “I’ve been helping Fury out at practice, he could really use you back.”

Guilt, now. That’s great.

Rebecca jumps in before he has to say anything. “We’ve got to get back home,” she says, which isn’t entirely a lie. She smiles so warmly at Barney that Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if the ice melted. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Barney says. And then, to Bucky’s complete and utter shock, he kisses Rebecca on the hand and says, “Hopefully we’ll run into each other soon.”

“Um, yeah,” Rebecca stammers.

Barney winks and skates to the other end of the rink. Bucky stares.

“Go get his number,” he says, stunned, but Rebecca’s already skating across the ice.

Bucky watches them and she deserves this, she really, really does. He crosses his fingers.

She skates back toward him with the widest smile and he thinks about how the rink isn’t a place for magic. But he hopes it will be, for her.

“So,” he says, tapping his stick against the boards while she goes through the door.

“Absolutely not,” she replies, but she’s grinning.

______

 

“Hey kiddos,” Mr. Stark says, a touch of condescension in his voice. Ever since starting his class this year, so much about Tony has started making sense. He gets his mannerisms directly from his dad.

Well. Probably. Bucky’s never met Mrs. Stark, but.

“Hope you all had a great weekend, because we’re about to get crackin’,” Mr. Stark says, hopping up on his desk. He swings his heels into the side of the desk a few times and Bucky and several other students wince at the _clang_. “It’s February, and in our household February means fondue and science projects, ain’t that right champ?”

He says this to Tony, who’s sitting in the furthest seat from the front of the class. Tony exhales loudly and rolls his eyes.

“Anywho, let’s get to it. This assignment will be due by the end of the month. You and a partner—the pairs have already been chosen—will be responsible for coming up a way to measure velocity with a real-world application.”

Usually, when teachers say “the pairs have already been chosen”, part of Bucky relaxes. It’s a small part, to be fair, but having to find someone else to partner up with is usually a nightmare (Peggy thinks it’s the hockey hair). Usually he and Steve partner up in the classes they have together.

He doesn’t want to work with Steve on this one.

He feels Steve’s eyes on him from across the hallway, but he keeps his focus on Mr. Stark.

(He peeks a little. It wasn’t Steve.)

(Which is fine.)

Mr. Stark waves a clipboard around and says, “I’ll get to it,” and starts reading off names.

Bucky isn’t worried until he lists off Jane Foster and Pepper, who he’s partnered with each other. It’s not science isn’t a fun class, but either of them would’ve been amazing to work with; Bucky has a few ideas, but Jane and Pepper are really, really good at making projects work out. Darcy told him Jane built a weather balloon once in her backyard. For _fun._

“Rogers and Barnes,” Mr. Stark says indolently (vocab).

Bucky whips around to look at Steve so fast that the vertebrae in his neck crack. Concern flits across Steve’s eyebrows, but the scowl Bucky sends him wipes it away.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Steven Rogers: Are you free this afternoon? We need to get started on this project.

Me: But of course.

Steven Rogers: Good

Me: Why don’t you have plans? It’s Valentine’s Day.

Steven Rogers: Sharon has a game

Me: _(read at 2:33 PM)_

Steven Rogers: Steak and Shake?

Me: Alrighty.

______

 

Rebecca’s quiet on the drive over. There’s clearly something on her mind, but sometimes with her it’s better to let her say it on her own terms, which is another way of saying Bucky can tell it’s about him and probably about Steve and he does not want to think about it right now.

“Are you sure?” she says finally, pulling into a parking spot by the dumpsters. She plucks at the fingers of her glove. “You don’t have to do this now, today, if you don’t want to.”

Bucky says, “It’s for class.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” she says, “and I know you, and I don’t want you building this up in your head.”

He stares at her. “I’ll try not to,” he says, and gets out of the car.

“Be careful with yourself!” Becks calls. He waves a hand in acknowledgement and watches her drive away and takes a breath and goes inside.

It’s filled with those glossy paper hearts and tissue paper people and it’s worse than anything he’s ever seen. But then he sees Steve, and thinks, _No, this is much worse,_ because Steve’s wearing a pink shirt that makes his cheeks look rosier than usual. And then Bucky thinks, _No, this way, way worse,_ because he swapped out his usual earring for a heart with an arrow through it.

He’s ridiculous and perfect and he’s Sharon’s, not Bucky’s, and Bucky wants Rebecca to come back and pick him up and drive them away from Steve Rogers and his careful smile and that fucking earring.

But Rebecca’s got a date, with Barney, and he couldn’t do that to her. So he dumps his backpack on their usual booth and slides in and doesn’t look at Steve until his notes are spread over the table. Steve slides a pepper shaker back and forth between his hands.

“Um,” Steve says. Bucky looks up expectantly, and for a brief second he’d swear Steve flushed just a little. Steve clears his throat. “So. Velocity.”

“I had a few ideas,” Bucky says. He shouldn’t have come, this is physically painful. “We cleaned the basement a month ago and found my old train set, we could use that. Or those old catapults your dad has, the model ones? Except—”

“Except he’d never go for that,” Steve finishes. Bucky shrugs. “The train’s not a bad idea; didn’t you fall off that once?”

Bucky smiles despite himself. “That was one time.”

Steve’s visibly relieved to see him smile and that relief catches in Bucky’s throat. “We were eleven, right? You tried to stand on the caboose and fell and broke your arm.”

“Still think it could’ve worked,” Bucky says.

“My mom freaked out, she thought you’d died,” Steve remembers. He’s so pretty when he remembers those things.

Bucky says, “Our most memorable sleepover,” and Steve grins.

There’s a pause, and for the first time in a month it doesn’t feel like Sharon’s standing in the middle of it. It’s okay, this. He’s missed this. Something in Steve’s face says he missed it too.

Bucky is the one to say “Um” this time. “Um. I was thinking, too…you know Clint’s brother?”

“Barney? Yeah, he’s been helping Fury a lot, why?”

“He said something the other day. That I was pretty fast,” Bucky says, and winces. It sounds like he’s asking for Steve to compliment his skating. “I mean, I don’t mean I want you to say anything about that—”

“You are a fast skater,” Steve says matter-of-factly, “but go on.”

“I mean. Skating’s something to do with velocity, right?”

Steve brightens and it’s like looking at sparks flying from the skate sharpener, which is an odd metaphor, but Bucky doesn’t really care. Steve says, “Good idea. Brilliant idea. I’ll call Fury. Are you okay going now?”

Bucky stabs the last bit of his pancakes and says, heart thumping, “You asking me on a date, Rogers?”

He knows, he _knows_ Steve and Sharon are still together, but—

Steve ducks his head and grins.

______

 

A few weeks after their skating experiment’s safely turned in—not to brag, but Mr. Stark skimmed it and nodded when they handed it to him, so Bucky’s not too worried—he’s helping Rebecca wipe down the table while their mother stands over a large pot of tomato soup at the stove.

“You’re sure it’s not too soon?” Becks asks. She anxiously fluffs her curls and checks her phone.

“It’s not too soon, dear,” their mother says. “You started dating, what, a month ago?”

“Three weeks,” Bucky and Rebecca say at the same time. He eases the rag from her grip and smiles and shakes it out into the trash. He says, “It’ll be fine, Becks,” and takes out four plates from the cabinet.

Their mother takes a spoon and tastes the soup and it strikes him, now, how nice this is. Cooking all together again. This is how it used to be, back when his dad was still around, but it’s better now somehow. His mother’s got laughing eyes again.

The doorbell rings just as Bucky’s taking the chicken out of the oven (it’s also nice, since he’s throwing the word around, to be able to afford chicken again). Becks makes a strangled noise deep in her throat, and Bucky and their mother laugh.

“Be normal,” she hisses, then, worrying again, “you’re sure this looks okay?”

“Beautiful,” their mother says, and Bucky gives her a thumbs up.

She takes a deep breath. The doorbell rings again, uncertain this time. Or, at least, that’s how Bucky would be feeling, any way. (That is how Bucky’s feeling.)

Rebecca says, “Okay. Okay, I’m gonna get the door,” and checks her hair again in the mirror in the hall and they hear her open the door.

“She really likes him, doesn’t she?” his mother says. She scoops tomato soup into their chipped bowls and the smell reminds him of Thanksgiving.

Becks laughs and comes into the kitchen holding Barney’s hand, and his other hand is holding a pie, and their mother tells him to call her Whitney after he stumbles over “Mrs.—Ms. Barnes”, and Becks is the happiest Bucky can remember seeing her, and Bucky carves the chicken and they sit down.

And Bucky looks at his mother and says, “Yeah,” and Barney kisses Becks swiftly on the cheek. Rebecca takes his hand and holds it under the table. Bucky smiles. “Yeah, she really does.”

______

 

**New Text Message**

Hawkeye: Barney hasn’t stopped smiling

Me: Neither has Becks

Hawkeye: d’you think they’re gonna make it?

Me: Yeah, I really do

Me: Do you?

Hawkeye: i haven’t seen him this happy sine his team won nationals

Hawkeye: i’d say there’s a strong chance

Me: :)

Me: Sine

Hawkeye: you know what I meant Barnes

______

 

Sometimes, when Steve and Sharon are annoying in the hallway and Peggy’s off somewhere else, he lets himself imagine how it’d be to be them. Or, to be Sharon. Steve’s taller than him, has been for awhile now; he can almost feel Steve pressing a kiss to his temple, like he’s doing now.

Sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he lets himself go over that scrap of a Christmas party kiss. He tries not to think about it much. It’s hard to help, though, sometimes.

______

 

“What’re you doing Thursday?” Peggy asks in French class one Monday early in March. M. Dernier narrows his eyes at her in that way he does, the way that somehow says _I know you know that I know you know that you know how to say that in French,_ so Peggy asks him again in French.

 _“Rien,”_ Bucky says, then, in a whisper, “I’m not doing anything, why?”

 _“Tu vas voir,”_ Peggy says. She’s wearing her more toned-down scheming face, but it still sets Bucky on edge. Doubly so when she mouths something to Steve over Pepper’s shoulder, and triply so when Steve grins so wide he’d be able to block a goal with his smile alone.

 _“Pourquoi?”_ Peggy just smiles at him. _“Je suis sérieux,_ Peggy, _dites-moi.”_

She takes a deep, deep breath, and he steadies himself. She says, _“Non.”_

He groans loudly. The entire class stares at them.

 _“Parfait, Monsieur Barnes,”_ M. Dernier says, clapping. “An excellent example of an exasperated francophone moan.”

Bucky mutters, _“Merci,”_ and glares at Peggy, who’s silently cracking up.

______

 

Tuesday after school Bucky’s at work again with Nat and Sam and Darcy, and it’s crazy how much more fun it is to work at Starbucks now that their bills are starting to be paid on time. This time Sam’s the one sitting on the floor in front of the cash register and every time Darcy tries to get to it he makes her give him a password, which is infinitely more amusing to watch than to be the one in Darcy’s place.

“Sam is the best, blessed be his wings, see how he soars,” Darcy says, clearly annoyed. She rolls her eyes when Sam hops to his feet and bows.

“She’s gonna hate you,” Nat observes. Bucky agrees; Darcy’s punching in orders faster and more rigidly than she’s ever done.

Bucky says, “She deserves a little winding up, she didn’t shut up when you all were at Midwinter.” He frowns, turns to Nat. “Speaking of. You never said how it went.”

Sam mutters something about needing more stirring straws from the storeroom and disappears into the back. Bucky notices Nat tense as he goes.

“Bad?”

Nat exhales, but her shoulders are still taut (vocab). “Better than I was expecting, still not great.”

“Why’s that?” He starts making a smoothie for someone in a bright pink jacket.

“Because,” she says, then pauses. “Because I don’t—”

But Darcy interrupts with “Tasha, hot chocolate with extra whip!” and Nat turns away.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Me: How’s it going with Nat?

The Falcon: Permanently grounded.

Me: What happened?

The Falcon: I don’t wanna talk about it.

Me: I’m sorry

The Falcon: _(read at 11:07 PM)_

______

 

“You and Nat talk, right?” Bucky asks, sliding in next to Peggy in the cafeteria.

Peggy opens her water bottle and says, “Indeed. I should warn you, however, that I’ve sworn a solemn oath never to divulge any of her secrets, on pain of death.”

Bucky stares at her.

“I’m kidding,” Peggy says, hiding a smile. “Mostly. Why?”

“Just…work yesterday,” he says. “She and Sam seem tense.”

Peggy says matter-of-factly, “Oh, yes, they kissed,” and Bucky drops his lunch tray.

_“What?”_

“Mm. It was after Bruce walked her home. Sam lives next door, he was waiting up for her. And it sounded like he was heartened after seeing her reject a kiss from Bruce, so he told her how he felt because he thought—”

“Thought maybe she’d said no because she had feelings for someone else,” Bucky says, numb.

“In essence,” Peggy says. “She says she didn’t mind the kiss, that it hadn’t been the best night and that it cheered her up some, actually. And she says Sam understood when she explained that now isn’t the best time.” She downs her water in one gulp and Bucky’s only thought is that she’s gonna be so lethal someday. And then she says, “If he hurts her, I’ll kill him,” and goes to recycle her bottle, and Bucky’s left thinking _damn, if she isn’t already_.

______

 

And of course, when it’s Thursday, Bucky gets it the first time he writes the date. March 10.

Neither Becks nor their mother had said anything to him as he was going to school. It’s like the plot of _Sixteen Candles_ over again, except without Becks getting married (yet. He and his mother have a bet going; she’s saying Barney will propose at the end of Bucky’s senior year, but Bucky’s convinced it’ll happen next year in the spring).

He opens his locker after last period and a huge pile of wrapped chocolate hockey pucks come spilling out. Bruce looks at them, then looks at Bucky’s smile, and says, “Happy birthday, man.”

“Thanks, Bruce,” Bucky says. He gives him a puck and starts trying to fit the rest of them in his backpack. There’s no way they bought anything smaller than a hockey bag sized pack of them.

The hallway’s nearly clear when someone lightly kicks the soles of his shoes. “Get it now?”

He sidesteps awkwardly on his knees until he sees Peggy and Steve (and Sharon, but he ignores her) standing over him. Steve’s earring today is a birthday present, and if he hadn’t had his arm around Sharon’s shoulder, Bucky would’ve sworn it meant something.

Peggy was the one who’d spoken, so Bucky tells her, “I get it now,” and tosses a chocolate to her.

“The chocolate was my idea,” Steve says. He holds his hands out and winks.

And it’s hard to ignore that swoop in his stomach, but Bucky says, “I don’t owe you every little thing, Rogers.”

Which he immediately regrets. His words lean heavy on Steve’s mouth and the air sours so tangibly (vocab) it almost settles on Bucky’s tongue.

Peggy clears her throat. “Bucky, phase two starts at—”

“I’ll be right there,” Steve interrupts. “We’re gonna go to her locker.”

“Okay, just—” Peggy starts helplessly, but Steve and Sharon are already nearly at the end of the hallway.

Bucky’s shaking a little; his backpack looks blurry around the edges. Peggy drops to her knees and squeezes his shoulder briefly and helps him pick up the pucks.

“Shall we talk about it?” she asks in an undertone. He shakes his head and wipes his eyes on his sleeve. “Bucky, look at me.” He does. “You’re my friend, you know that? You’re the first person I met here and, don’t tell anyone, but you might be my favorite person I’ve met here.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, but she says, “I’m serious. I love you. And everyone can see how you feel about him.”

“Am I that obvious?” he asks. His voice is scratchy and hoarse; any other scenario he’d be enjoying it, but right now it’s just depressing.

Peggy says, “A little,” and he drops his head into his hands. Peggy starts rubbing circles into his back. “Hey, it’s okay. I was going to say—and you should know how much it pains me to say this, because I love him too—I was going to say, if Steve can’t see how much you care about him, then perhaps he isn’t worth it.”

“Nah, Pegs, don’t say—”

“No, I will and I have to and I have to because I’m your friend and you deserve so much, Bucky.” She pulls him into a hug now, and he lets her. “And who knows, maybe he is your forever boy—” Bucky laughs and it sounds strangled even to him “—but we both know that boy has a lot of work ahead of him.”

“That’s not true,” Bucky protests weakly. “He’s perfect.”

Peggy draws back and looks him dead in the eye. “He gave Sharon an open box of chocolate for Valentine’s Day,” she says, “and took her skating and to an art gallery. Sharon hates skating and art galleries.”

Bucky says, “I never said he was observant.” Peggy laughs.

“True. At least he’s stopped fighting people this semester.”

“Yeah, I think the suspension really helped with that.”

They’re quiet for a while, and this, too, is nice. He’s been missing Peggy recently.

“It’s not fair that he’s been messing with you like this,” Peggy says. Her voice is muffled by Bucky’s shoulder.

He tenses. “What d’you mean?”

“Kissing you at Christmas, going out with you on Valentine’s Day, that ridiculous earring, all of that.” She pauses. “He’s not doing it purposefully, but that’s not an excuse, not really.”

“Well, it doesn’t help, not really.”

Peggy’s interrupted by her cellphone.They let go of each other, and he wipes his face again and packs while she talks to Nat on the phone.

“Bit of a change of plans,” she’s saying.

He feels calmer now, having cried. He holds onto that.

She says this next to him. “Would your family be okay if we all came over?”

“Who’s ‘we all’?”

“Me, Nat, Clint, Sam, not Steve because Sharon’s just texted me that she and Steve are going to a movie, so four people,” Peggy says, counting off on her fingers.

 _Steve’s not coming._ Bucky pushes the thought of Steve and Sharon cuddling in a dark theatre away. “Should be fine,” he says, and crosses his fingers.

______

 

Had it been a few months earlier, there’s very little chance it would’ve been anywhere close to ‘fine’. As it is, they arrive and Bucky finds out that Peggy had already updated his mother and Becks to the change of schedule (Bucky was gonna ask how they had their numbers, but Barney was there too, and it stood to reason that Clint had asked at some point.) (Of course Nat tells him later that she’d gotten them from his phone, but she admits that his way would’ve been easier, and he’s content with that).

Barney and Becks made the cake and his mother is smiling as she hugs him happy birthday, and Sam and Clint are talking spiritedly about the advantages and disadvantages of various birds, and Nat and Peggy line his eyes again and he’s looking pretty damn hot.

Bucky spares a moment to think of how he wishes Steve were there, but it’s a moment to think of how flustered Steve would be, so it’s allowed.

They give him jeans and sweaters and Sam gives him the short version of why Nat calls him the Falcon and they drink hot chocolate and watch _Ferris Bueller’s Day Off_ and his father calls but he lets it go to voicemail and they fall asleep on each other, and it’s a brilliant way to turn seventeen.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Steven Grant Rogers: You don’t have to reply to this. I just wanted to say happy seventeenth, and I’m sorry for how I acted earlier.

Me: _(read at 6:16 AM)_

______

 

Steve’s off his suspension when mid-April rolls around, so one Saturday Bucky finds himself with Peggy and Clint in the stands. Nat and Sam had work, but Bucky texts them updates by the minute, which Peggy says is probably overkill but Clint says is much too slow.

Sharon’s not there, which gratifying; Bucky and Steve are on a strange sort of ‘okay’ with each other right now, in the sense that they still talk but don’t go too far out of their way to text or anything. The other day, Ms. Hill let their class pick their partners for a presentation on _Julius Caesar,_ and they hadn’t tried to pair up.

It should make him sad, Bucky knows that. But Peggy’s words have been playing over and over in his head since his birthday, and he hasn’t made any attempt to stop them. One-way friendships aren’t built to last, no matter how long they’ve known each other.

“Yes!” Clint exclaims, punching the air, and Bucky jerks back to the present. Tony’s gliding lazily along the way he does after scoring a point. It’s 2-0 Avengers favor. Bucky can see Fury smiling in that gruff way he has even from here, and it reminds him of a time he’s just nailed his forward crossover.

Huh. Fury hadn’t really let him practice with Steve then.

“He’s doing very well, isn’t he,” Peggy says, clapping.

Bucky says, “Probably showing off,” because he’d just spotted Pepper in the first row of seats. Clint snorts.

Peggy says, “Maybe,” and Clint says, “Oh it’s a real thing. We always played better when you were watching.”

“Is that so?”

“Don’t play ignorant, Carter,” Bucky says. It’s a line from one of the plays they’d read this year, the “don’t play ignorant” bit; he’s been waiting for an opportunity to say it.

“Yeah, you’ve gotta know Steve had the hugest crush on you last year,” Clint says. He punches the air again; this time Jim Morita in goal had an exceptional save. “That’s probably his best save so far.”

Peggy says, so low only Bucky can hear, “I knew.” Some organ inside him constricts and then relaxes when he realizes it doesn’t matter either way.

“Isn’t it weird he’s dating Sharon?” Bucky asks. It’s been bothering him for the obvious reason, but he’s just put together the fact that Steve’s had a crush on both Peggy and Sharon in the last year.

“It is,” she says, shrugging, “but if they’re happy.” She catches the look on Bucky’s face and adds, “I’m being pulled in three directions, Buck. Yes I want them to break up. But I don’t want them hurt, either.”

Clint turns to face them now. “You like Steve.”

He’s looking at Bucky. Bucky’s stomach drops so far it ends up near his knees. “What?”

“You do, don’t you?” Clint doesn’t wait for Bucky to reply. “I’m deaf, not blind. You deserve a lot more than that.”

Bucky goes pink. “Thanks Clint.”

“No problemo Buckio-bean.”

His jaw drops. _“Sam._ I trusted him.”

Clint just laughs and tells Peggy the joke while the buzzer runs out for the third period.

They end up winning the game. Peggy calls him ‘Buckio-bean’ twelve times before Steve gets out of the locker room, and while they’re waiting they catch Tony and Pepper making out in the concessions line.

“Well,” Peggy says.

“It’s kind of nice,” Clint muses. “I think Barney and Rebecca are making me soft.”

Bucky says, “Definitely gonna tease her about this at work,” and then Steve comes out of the locker room with bright eyes from his assist in the second period, and this time his stupid earring doesn’t feel too much like the last breath of air before a shootout after the third period. It’s sad, and he mourns it, somewhat, but then he lets it go.

______

 

But then it’s May and he was so very wrong about letting go because _fuck_ there’s Steve turning the corner in the hallway and _he’s wearing Bucky’s shirt again._ And Bucky can’t think, because Steve’s wearing his stupid earring again, and he must have just gotten water or something because his lips are shiny and his eyes are so, so blue and Bucky’s laughing a little for ever having thought he was over him. Because clearly that’s never going to happen, not while Steve’s wearing his shirt and he’s biting his lips just a little and not when he’s glowing after having scored twice the night before, because even though Bucky didn’t go he can tell that Steve has that look about him.

Steve’s walking down the hall toward him and for once Sharon isn’t there, and Bucky lets himself imagine for a wild moment that Steve’s coming to _him,_ that they’re fine again and maybe more than fine, that maybe they’ll kiss.

He’s almost breathless with the idea.

Steve looks straight at him and nods and keeps walking.

And he repeats to himself, knees shaking: _I don’t owe you every little thing, Buck._

______

 

**New Text Message**

**You added The Iron Lady, Hawkeye, The Falcon, and Nat to the conversation.**

Me: I still like him what do I do

The Iron Lady: I don’t know, Buck

Nat: Try not to think about him?

Me: Tried that, not working

Me: Or, was working, but isn’t

Me: He’s wearing my shirt today

Hawkeye: why’s he wearing your shirt wanna tell us something

Nat: That’s a fair point ;)

Me: I had an extra and he spilled something on his, I don’t know, I can’t remember

The Falcon: you remember

The Iron Lady: We can talk about the logistics later

Me: Thank you

Nat: We will defiitely be talking about that later

Nat: *definitely

Hawkeye: i dunno Bucky my only idea is ignore him

Hawkeye: or kiss him

Hawkeye: what who said that

Me: He’s still dating Sharon, so nope to that

Me: Peggy they are still dating right?

The Iron Lady: Unfortunately

The Falcon: i mean we could break them up but

Me: No

The Falcon: exactly

Nat: We could set you up

Nat: I know some people you might like

Me: I don’t know if I’m ready

The Falcon: if you wait until you’re ready, you’ll be waiting for the rest of your life

Nat: !!!!!!

Nat: _A Series of Unfortunate Events!!!_

Hawkeye: i love those nooks

Hawkeye: *books

The Falcon: right aren’t they brilliant?

The Iron Lady: As much as I love discussing literature, we have to come up with a plan somehow

Nat: So brilliant

Hawkeye: Sunny is my favorite

Nat: Sorry

Hawkeye: and also the one that looks neither like a man nor a woman

Nat: Why don’t I give you his number and you just find out for yourself?

The Falcon: and Duncan and Isadora

Hawkeye: and Esmé

Nat: You don’t have to use it or anything

The Falcon: Quigley and Violet all the way

Nat: Just so you’d have it

Hawkeye: true

The Iron Lady: Who is it?

Nat: Someone he already knows

Me: Who??

Nat: Just trust me

Hawkeye: but that plot twist at the end

Hawkeye: i wasn’t ready

The Iron Lady: Guys stop spoiling the books

______

 

“Have you texted him yet?” is the first thing Nat says to him when he sees her at work.

He goes behind the counter and pulls on his apron. “Nah.”

“Why not?”

Bucky shrugs.

But there’re a million reasons, aren’t there? He’s not gonna have the same hair, or smell, or hypoallergenic shampoo. He won’t have had an asthma attack when they were eight, or needed star-spangled tape for his stick because “I’m born on the Fourth, it makes sense”. He’s not gonna be Steve.

And it’s pathetic to be hung up him like this. Bucky knows that. And yet.

“Because,” he says. He can tell she hears what he isn’t saying.

“You’re pining,” Nat says gently. It’s the softest he’s heard her speak. She rings up an order and says, “Let your heart rest.”

He says, “You’re a lot softer than you’d like us to think,” and she throws a towel at him.

“Nick always says that.” She calls out a coffee for someone named Odin and makes grabby hands for the towel back. He gives it to her. “The heart resting thing. He tells me that a lot.”

Bucky says, “Fury’s a lot softer than he’d like us to think,” and she makes a _yup_ face before throwing the towel at him again.

It _whuffs_ against his face. It smells like coffee and hand soap and, for some reason, cheese. He splutters, “What was that for?”

“That one was just for fun.”

______

 

Saturday before review week, Bucky, Clint, and Barney are at the rink again.

“Just like that,” Barney says. “Next time, a little more power, and don’t forget that you wanna end up pointing at where you want the puck to go.”

Bucky and Clint have both been playing hockey since they were five, so this would be insulting if they hadn’t been out the entire season. As it is…Bucky shifts his weight the way Barney shows him and shoots again.

And he’d be lying if that “Nice, Buck,” didn’t feel good.

After Barney finetunes their shots, he has them do a few passing drills from center to a wing position. Bucky takes center; he’s seen Clint go pale too many times even thinking about playing center again.

They work on that drill for at least fifteen minutes, which is good because Bucky can let his mind wander. He’s thinking about Nat and Sam and Clint when Barney calls them to the faceoff circle.

“Last thing,” Barney says, his voice clipped. He’d be a brilliant coach.

Bucky has a sudden mental image of Barney, bright orange whistle in hand, standing feet taller than a small horde of children with Barney’s blue eyes and Rebecca’s dark hair.

“—okay, Bucky?” Barney’s saying.

“‘m fine.”

“Good. Last thing is eight lengths of the rink, as fast as you can.” Clint and Bucky groan. “I know, I know. But suicides are a good way to make sure everything’s in order, skating-wise.”

“You just want to torture us,” Clint mutters.

Barney pokes him in the back with his stick. “There’s that, too.” Clint scowls at him, and Barney smiles. “Go line up.”

Bucky’s heart’s going miles a minute. It feels like it did when Steve almost kissed him in his kitchen.

“On my mark.”

_I don’t owe you (any)thing._

He frowns.

“Go!”

He pushes off so fast he almost slips, but he corrects himself by using his stick. A pleasant burn creeps its way into his thighs. He’s at the red line now.

“Remember, you’re not racing!”

He knows that objectively but you can’t put two hockey players on the ice and say “you’ve got to skate eight lengths of the ice” without expecting them to want to race.

That’s two laps done now. (Clint is a little behind him.)

He doesn’t think too much during the remaining six, other than to think about how sorry he is for any future children Barney’s gonna have if this is the way he treats his brother and his girlfriend’s brother while training. There’s no way Barney’s kids aren’t going to be hockey kids.

Four done. (He’s pulled away a little now; Clint’s slowing down.)

Barney’s a good guy. He’s taken Bucky and Clint for private lessons twice a week since Bucky’s birthday; he claims it’s a birthday present for both Bucky and Clint, and though Clint’s protested that his birthday is June 18th, Bucky can tell he’s very happy to have some time with his brother. He gets the sense they don’t get to hang out a lot.

Six. (He thinks he’s sweating.)

Yeah. (Oh yeah he’s definitely sweating hard now.) Barney’s a good guy. He makes Rebecca happy, so.

Seven.

Barney’s got their mother’s approval, too. She keeps hinting that he and Rebecca are gonna end up marrying whenever he comes over, which makes Becks go “Mom!”. But from what Bucky can figure, the fact that Barney’s still coming over is a good sign.

Eight.

He leans over and puts his hands on his knees, panting. Next to him, Clint does the same thing while Barney says, “Good job guys.”

They wheeze, “Thanks,” at the same time.

Barney very noticeably pauses before continuing, but it gives them time to breathe, so Bucky doesn’t dwell on it too much. “You know, Fury could really use you both. If you’re up for it.”

Bucky closes his eyes. Clint says, “I dunno, Barney.”

“I’m serious. You’re both improving so fast, and you were two of the best players on the team.”

“Nah but Bucky’s got work, and I’m deaf and what if—”

“What if we aren’t good enough?” His words are a whisper. His eyes are still closed.

Barney says softly, “Awh, Buck. Clint. You’re good enough.”

Tears prick at his eyes. “I dunno, Barney.”

“Hey, I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t—” Barney’s so obviously uncomfortable that Bucky almost laughs. “Look, I just wanted to bring it up. I’m sorry, guys.”

“We’re just not ready yet,” Clint says.

“That’s fine, of course. It’s up to you guys. Just thought I’d mention it.”

Bucky opens his eyes and says, “It’s fine,” and they take their gear off in relative silence.

And when they haul their bags to the car, Barney claps them both on the shoulder and pulls them into a one-armed hug before driving them to Steak and Shake.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Me: Hey I got your number from Natasha Romanov, I hope that’s okay

**Save as draft?**

**Draft deleted.**

______

 

Finals week comes and the worst class by far is English, because he sits behind Steve and Steve has a bruise on his neck that definitely did not come from his game the night before. It’s hard to concentrate on the chaotic natural world of _Julius Caesar_ when hard evidence that Steve and Sharon are very much still dating is right at eye level.

Bucky almost writes _Sharon Carter gave Steve a hickey_ down as his answer to “Explain the dramatic irony of Caesar’s disregard of Calpurnia’s dream” but luckily he crossed it out before Ms. Hill called time up.

Physics isn’t so bad in comparison. Mr. Stark has them summarize how their projects from February relate to velocity and one more practical application of their formulas. He had a bonus question about fondue for some reason, but Bucky left it blank; who on earth knows when fondue was invented? More importantly, why would they want to know?

Their French exam is spread out over the week due to the number of people in the program, so on Monday Bucky takes his oral exam and sits the written portion with everyone on Friday. He sits next to Peggy, which is lucky, because her habit of sticking her tongue out when she answers questions is strangely calming.

And Steve’s on the other side of the classroom, which is better. And he can barely see him thanks to Pepper.

He thinks he does okay, on the whole. It was weird walking into finals without having a review session with Peggy and everyone, but he’s not sure he could’ve taken that. He can barely stand seeing Steve as is.

______

 

So of course he sees Steve at the rink the Monday after class lets out.

Steve’s there with Sharon, Pepper, Jane, and Thor, which is bizarre; Bucky didn’t know Steve knew them that well. Steve’s helping Sharon get her skates laced, but she keeps untying them or pulling him into kisses before he can finish. Steve’s getting that expression that means he’s getting annoyed, the one that stretches out his mouth and tightens his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything.

Clint says, “I didn’t know he knew them,” and Bucky shrugs in agreement.

Barney scans the group. “That girl plays for Alexander Pierce, doesn’t she? The one with brown hair.”

“Jane?” Bucky and Clint look at each other. Bucky says, “Does she?”

“Pretty sure.”

Interesting. Bucky tosses his stick in the air, but accidentally bumps it with his elbow and sends it flying before he can catch it. It clatters against a display case. Steve looks up as Bucky stoops to pick it up, cheeks on fire.

“Oh no,” Bucky says. He pulls on Barney and Clint’s sleeves to get them to move; Steve’s coming over. Walk faster, c’mon—

“Bucky?”

He wants to turn around and say something like “Who the hell is Bucky?” (he saw that in a movie too) but Steve’s known him since they were five, so the chances of that working are slim.

“We can still run,” Clint whispers.

Bucky says, “You guys go on, I’ll catch up,” and he can tell he sounds as miserable as he feels. They go. He turns around, feeling like he’s goaltending without pads.

“Hey. Um. I’ve been,” Steve says haltingly, and this is so familiar it hurts something in Bucky’s chest. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

Bucky makes some noise like “meagh” and Steve ignores it.

He rubs the back of his neck. “I just. I know things have been weird since Sharon and I started dating—”

“What, just since then?”

“What d’you mean?”

Bucky kicks the wall and swears and kicks his bag. “I mean, it’s been weird since before that, right?”

“Since when then, Buck?” and it’s that polite exasperation that sets him off.

“Hmm, well, since you kissed me, maybe, maybe since then.” He kicks his bag again and glares at a beer league player who glances at them. “Or even, maybe since before that, when you got that fucking earring and it destroyed me. Or before that, when you got all those muscles, what the _hell_ was that about?”

Steve starts to say something but Bucky holds up a hand. “Or before _that,_ when you were still bird-skinny at our first sleepover, and your hypoallergenic shampoo; maybe that’s when.”

“You—what’re you saying, exactly?” Steve asks quietly.

He kicks his bag again. He hates that he’s started talking about this. He wants to go home. “I’m _saying,_ you have this—stupid—I like you, okay, I have for awhile, and I hate that I hate seeing you and her together because it means I’m a bad friend, but I _do,_ and you won’t see me the way I see you and that’s _fine_ but you can’t—”

“Can’t what?”

“You _can’t_ pretend anymore that you don’t know how I’m feeling. It’s not fair to me, so if we’re friends still—”

“Of course we are, Buck, I’m didn’t know I’m sor—”

Bucky says, “If we’re friends still, maybe we shouldn’t be, because I can’t take this, not anymore.” Steve’s face pales. “I can’t take talking and then not talking for ages.”

“You didn’t reply to my text—”

“You broke my heart,” Bucky says, swallowing around an unpleasant emotion. “You broke my heart on my birthday.”

Steve’s crying now. “I didn’t know,” he says, and Bucky needs to go before Steve crying erodes his anger. He needs to leave, now, because he’s about to cry and a stupid part of him still wants to kiss him and he can’t let either happen, not now.

So he says, “Well, now you do,” and drags his bag behind him to the rink and he’s proud of himself for not crying until Clint says, “Want me to beat him up?” and then he’s a mess, well and truly.

He hyperaware that Barney’s on the phone with Rebecca and that Clint’s seriously considering storming out to the other rink and yelling at Steve.

“I’m fine,” Bucky says, though he knows they both know he isn’t. They stop and listen to him anyway. “Can we just practice? Please.”

“Of course we can,” Barney says, and hockey players don’t get puffy eyes unless they’ve broken something and sometimes not even then, but he doesn’t say anything about Bucky crying.

And Bucky thinks, as they’re doing warmup laps, that maybe he has broken something and he doesn’t know how to fix it. And he’s not sure he wants to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay well this took a lot longer to post than I was anticipating, so sorry about that. A few of the latest pages haven't been beta'ed, so it's possible there will be some change; I will make a note at the beginning or the end of this chapter, if that is the case. I just kinda wanted to get something going again.
> 
> Great thanks to my lovely beta, emdeewrites (realcanadianconsultant) <3
> 
> I'm not gonna say when my next chapter will go up, but hopefully before summer as I will be on hiatus for two months due to a summer job. 
> 
> Also don't worry, we've still got 18 chapters to go; it'll work out :) I can't promise that they'll be as long as this one, but it'll work out in the end :) this is a Stucky fic, after all.


	5. Summer Before Junior Year

On Clint’s birthday Nat says, “Where’s all the popcorn?”

“Don’t ask me,” Bucky says. The bowl’s very obviously in his lap, but Peggy added just the right amount of butter and salt, so there’s no way he’s sharing any time soon. He adjusts the pillow he’s sitting on and leans back against the couch. Next to him, Peggy pulls his arm around her.

On screen the droids go “Roger roger” and he thinks how good a nickname it would’ve been. Someone lightly taps him on the shoulder.

“Sam, why?” He shoves Sam’s foot out of his face.

Sam says, “Just wanted to make sure you were still here,” and Bucky tosses a handful of popcorn at him.

“Hey,” Peggy says. She elbows him and adds, “My dad doesn’t know you’re all over, so the less popcorn smudges the better.”

“What does your dad do?” Nat asks sleepily.

Bucky has another handful of popcorn.

“I don’t have the clearance to know, actually,” she replies.

She used her  _ slightly defensive about this don’t press me _ voice. Bucky bumps her shoulder with his.  _ You okay? _ he mouths, and she shrugs.

They lapse (summer vocab) into silence, and the credits fly across the screen as Clint turns seventeen.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Me: Nat told me you might

**Save as draft?**

**Draft deleted.**

**New Text Message**

Me: This is so out of the blue, and I promise I don’t usually

**Save as draft?**

**Draft deleted.**

______

 

June 30th, and he’s at the gym with Clint after work. It wasn’t a bad day; Nat and Sam are still a little fragile with each other, but today they managed to both piss off Darcy, so it’s been good for their team building.

He looks to his left. Clint’s running on the elliptical next to him (they do arms on Mondays) and he wonders how they’ve managed to be on the same team for twelve years without having had a real conversation about anything. Clint goes to HYDRA with Nat and Sam, so that could do it. But still. Twelve years.

Maybe he would’ve fallen for Clint instead, he thinks, but he’s lying to himself and he knows it.

“You good?” Clint says. Bucky blinks; Clint’s wiping his forehead and has his Dad Friend look on. It’s a weird fit for him, in that Bucky would never have assumed, ever, that Clint Barton is a Dad Friend.

Bucky says, “Fine,” and he stops his run too. 

They appraise each other. “Not still thinking about him, are you?”

“Nah,” Bucky says, but he’s lying and he knows Clint knows it.

Clint just claps him on the shoulder. “If you wanna talk.”

“I know.”

______

 

The days are shorter in the summer. He knows, scientifically, that that’s an untrue statement, but what with work and makeup lessons with Peggy and Nat and not thinking about  _ him _ and then the gym with Clint and the rink with Clint and Barney, he’s spending sunlight like it’s nothing. It’s scary to think about, that it’s going so fast.

Rebecca comes home one night after closing at Papa Vino’s and says, “Where’s the summer going?” She smells like garlic bread. Garlic bread is not a summer smell.

“When you were younger, you’d never be caught saying that,” Mom says. She’s got Jeopardy! on the TV and a bowl of soup in her lap.

“That’s because it was slower back then,” Bucky and Rebecca say at the same time. He hands her a bowl of soup.

Mom (Mother? Whitney? He’s still not sure) had recently been slowly getting back into cooking. The past few months, she’d been rotating through making a soup for the week on Monday and then pasta for the weekend, and then whatever she bought at the grocery store for the rest of the week. He knows she’s apologizing for when she would stay in her room for ages—she apologized, crying into her takeout, the day after his birthday—but it’s something she used to love doing, too, and it feels closer to normal.

“You’re all so busy now,” she says now. Then, to the TV: “Brooklyn, May nineteenth, nineteen forty-one.”

Bucky and Becks look at each other. They wear guilt in the same place, right where their laugh lines will be around their eyes; they pull tight when Mom says things like this. She’s not doing it purposefully, but.

“Why don’t we go somewhere,” Bucky says. He’s been thinking about going somewhere for awhile. Everything he sees here has Steve-stained memories.

Becks says, “Where?” and their mother squints at him curiously.

He shrugs. “I dunno. Coney Island, maybe. We haven’t really gone anywhere in ages, it’d be nice to.”

“We’ll see,” Becks says. She’s doing the math in her head, he can tell; he did it before he said anything, adding up her paychecks and his own, figuring out when bills are due. It’s not too much money—it’d be around $75 for the three of them—but it’s not his call whether or not it’d be worth paying for a short trip when they’ve still got some overdue bills to pay and groceries to buy.

Becks clears her throat and he plays with his spoon in his bowl. “We can swing it,” she says. “I’ll ask for more hours.”

He’s on his feet hugging her before he’s aware he’s moving.

“Thanks,” he says.

She pats his back. “Think we all deserve a little break, don’t you?”

He does.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Me: I should just send this anyway you won’t reply, why not?

**Save as draft?**

**Draft deleted.**

______

 

“Coney Island? When?” Nat asks. They’re in Peggy’s private ( _ private _ ) bathroom with her and Nat’s makeup spread over the counter.

He shrugs. “Whenever we can, really.”

Peggy opens an orange tube of mascara and says, “Well, that’ll be fun.”

“Yeah.”

He watches her flick the wand (the terminology makes him feel weird, it’s like a different language) through her eyelashes. “D’you see the difference?” Nat asks.

One of Peggy’s eyes looks brighter than the other. More defined. “Yeah,” he says.

“Right. So this is usually what I do, just the top lashes, but for a party or going out look I’d do both.”

It’s more nerve-wracking than hockey, somehow; he’s out of his depth with this. It’s like going from a rec league to the pros. “Can I try?”

Peggy puts the wand back into the tube and hands them both to him. “You wouldn’t have to do much, if you didn’t want to,” she says.

Nat says, “Yeah, you’re lucky your eyelashes are so dark already.”

“Born with it,” Bucky says, and flips his hair. And then is surprised that he can flip his hair. (He hasn’t had a haircut in ages, it’s tickling his the back of his neck where it meets the neckline of his shirt. It’s probably more “on the run from a top secret evil government agency” than “hockey player” at the moment.)

The mascara smells weird, which is saying something considering the plethora (vocab) of weird smells that hockey locker rooms are known for. It’s not exactly a bad weird. It reminds him of that time in middle school when he played a Lost Boy in  _ Peter Pan _ .

But Steve and Sarah went to that performance, and remembering that hurts, so he focuses on the mascara.

Gingerly, Bucky brushes the wand through his eyelashes like Peggy was doing. It gloops his eyelashes into points, and he frowns at his reflection. “Is it supposed to look like this?”

“Nah,” Nat says, “but don’t worry, happens all the time. I usually use a toothpick to separate them if that happens.” She shakes a toothpick out of a container, grabs his chin, and turns his face toward her. Before he can protest she’s spread out his lashes and is pointing his face back at the mirror. “Better?”

He looks…softer. Pretty, almost. “I think so,” he says uncertainly. He does his other eye quickly. He kinda likes it. “Do I…look okay?”

Nat says “Fantastic” and Peggy says “Drop dead gorgeous” and he turns the same color as Nat’s blush.

“Do you wanna try eyeliner again?” Nat asks, and he nods. “You’ve gotta do it yourself this time.”

“That’s fine.” It’s like skating in a shootout. A bit of performance anxiety creeps up his arm.

It’s a lot skinnier than the mascara, this tube, and he lines his eyelid the way he thinks Peggy did for his birthday and then pulls away from the mirror and blinks.

“It’s not very straight,” he says. It’s all wavy; it reminds him of Steve’s ankles the very first time they got on the ice. He was staggering and shaking for a good two years.

“Neither are you,” Peggy says, one eyebrow raised, and they all laugh.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Me: We're no strangers to love, you know the rules and so do I. A full commitment's what I'm thinking of; you wouldn't get this from any other guy...I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling, gotta make you understand: Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you

**Save as draft?**

**Draft deleted.**

______

 

The day after he hangs out with Nat and Peggy it’s the Fourth of July. He spends it with his family and the Bartons—Mrs. Barton makes fantastic guacamole, he files that away for reference—and Becks isn’t as nervous as he thought she would be. It’s her first time meeting Barney’s parents, but as far as he can tell she’s doing well. She’s talking with Mrs. Barton right now about her lemon square recipe.

A football flies into Bucky’s chest from out of nowhere and he almost falls out of his lawn chair in surprise. Looking up, he sees Clint jogging toward him from the deck (which has a hot tub and a grill). Cint’s wearing these ridiculous stars-and-stripes shorts and a pink polo and Bucky’s pretty sure that if they were meeting just now he’d hate Clint on sight.

Bucky lazily tosses the football at him. “You dropped this.” It’s getting dark now. A few lightning bugs dot the Barton’s long lawn.

Clint catches it and says, “Thanks.” He drops into a purple lawn chair. “Have you…” He trails off, but he motions to Bucky’s pocket and phone.

“No.”

“Are you gonna?” 

He sighs. “I dunno, Clint.”

Clint nods. “You don’t have to, y’know. Totally up to you.”

“I know.”

“I’m just thinking, I know you, and I have a feeling you’d feel like shit if you didn’t.” Clint pauses. Bucky kicks lightly at the legs of his chair. “Just a thought.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Barney calls to them now from beside the pool. “Hey, you bums! Come play some football!” 

And that’s how Bucky learns why people call Barney Trickshot; even in the fading light, he’s got a killer arm.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Me: You don’t have to reply to this, but I was talking with Clint and he reminded me

Me: *me that I’d feel like a dick if I didn’t say anything, so: Happy birthday, Steve.

Steve: Thanks, Buck.

______

 

“Oh, I couldn’t” is what Mom says when Barney brings it up.

“Why not? Becks told me you used to figure skate,” he says, taking a dish from her and drying it. He fits well here, Bucky thinks.

“Figure skating and hockey are two different things,” she says. “Two very different things.”

Bucky says, “Not that different,” and Barney points at him emphatically (summer vocab).

“See?”

“Yeah, Mom, it’s really just the skate itself that changes.” He pauses, taps the table thoughtfully. “And the fact that you’ve got eleven other people on the ice and you’re wearing pads and you could get checked pretty hard.”

Barney narrows his eyes. Now he points a soapy soup spoon at Bucky. “Not helpful, Bucky.” Bucky spreads his fingers and shrugs.

“No yeah Mom, it’s not a super hard transition. You know how to skate, that’s half the battle right there,” he says. 

“And you can help me get Becks out there too,” Barney says cheerfully. “She’s been saying she wants to give it a try.”

“It’d be a family event,” Bucky says, and Mom smiles at him. Barney dries his hands and looks at the floor. Bucky frowns. “You’re included in that too, you know,” he adds.

He means it. When he comes over, their mother smiles a little brighter; Barney makes Becks happy, and that makes their mother happy. He’s like walking smile gas (that’s not a thing. Probably not? Bucky’ll look it up later).

Barney says, a little shy, “Really?”

“’Course,” Bucky says.

Barney grins and throws the towel over his shoulder and gives him a huge hug. And then Mom messes up both their hair and joins the hug and they’re like that until Becks comes home from work, and it’s a good evening.

______

 

Bucky sees Sam for the first time in ages at work. He’s always been more Steve’s friend than Bucky’s, and more Nat’s than both of theirs. Nat’s telling Sam something about a gymnastics competition she had last weekend when he clocks in and she stops when she sees Bucky.

“Hey—” he starts, but she all but jumps in his arms and he gets a mouthful of red hair. Coughing, he starts, “You okay, Nat—” but she interrupts.

“I just haven’t hugged you in ages,” she says simply. She pulls him in tighter, and he lets her.

“Excuse me! Some of us have real jobs to go to!”

Bucky and Nat, still hugging, swivel awkwardly to face the yeller—an angry woman in a bright purple fuzzy hat—but Sam gets to her first. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says politely. “I was unaware that we were providing you a fake service here, at our fake minimum wage jobs.”

“Now don’t you go yelling at me, young man,” she says through her teeth. The line behind her is looking at them both anxiously, this loud and angry white woman yelling at this polite black boy. “I was just saying—”

Sam interrupts. “You were just insulting me,” he says calmly, “and my coworkers.”

“I—you were being disrespectful—”

“By spreading love between friends?” There’s a sharp edge of anger in his tone now. Sam glances at Bucky and Nat, and they stare back with wide eyes. Bucky’s heart is thudding in his chest; he’s never heard Sam go off like this. “My friends are hugging to say hello. One of them is having a terrible day, ma’am, and I realize—” here his voice takes on a note of irony and annoyance “—how cheering her up may seem like counterproductive behavior, but this is the sort of thing we encourage here.”

Someone from near the back of the line says, “Well said!” Sam inclines his head and to Bucky he looks like a prince.

“Well—you can hug each people without looking like you’re about to makeout with them,” the woman replies, sputtering.

Bucky opens his mouth—to swear at her? To come out to the entire store?—but Sam once again has it handled. “I believe if we review the footage, you’ll see that’s exactly what they were doing.”

The woman starts and stops to speak several times before finally glaring at Sam, throwing her hands up, and storming out. The line—five or seven people—erupt in cheers. Sam does his best  _ Princess Diaries _ wave and says, “Thank you for being here today,” and rings up the next customer.

“Nat, one smoothie comin’ your way,” Sam calls.

Nat’s standing still, mouth slightly open. Bucky tosses a towel in her face and she blinks and says to him, “Was that Sam?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replies, stunned. “Yeah, I think it was.”

After their shift ends, Bucky wipes down the tables while Nat cleans up the machines. Sam sweeps. Bucky wipes down his last table and as he does, he notices Nat look Sam over, a bemused expression on her face. She notices him noticing and she sticks her tongue out and he grins.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Me: Hi, sorry to bother you; Natasha Romanoff gave me your number 

**Save as draft?**

**Message sent.**

______

 

“When’s Becks’ birthday?” Barney asks Bucky one day in the middle of July. They’re skating lazily at the rink—free skate—but Barney’s tone is anything but relaxed. And when Bucky looks at him, he’s wearing the deepest frown with the deepest crease between his eyebrows that Bucky has ever seen. It’s worse than Steve’s worry eyebrows.

Bucky’s immediately on edge. “If you’re breaking up with her, I’m warning you now: I’ve done karate.”

Barney laughs in surprise. “What? No, of course not. I’m not breaking up with her.” Then his face goes cloudy. “Why? Is she breaking up with me?”

“No. I just thought,” Bucky says, and trips and nearly falls on the ice. Barney grabs his elbow. “Thanks. Just thought because you’re you, you wouldn’t want to ruin her birthday, so.”

“I don’t want to break up with her,” he says, shaking his head. He glances at Bucky, then down at his skates. “I want the opposite of that, actually.”

This time Bucky trips and actually  _ does _ fall, but his banged elbow barely registers. “What?” His voice rasps on some emotion in his throat. He clears his throat and pushes back to his feet. “You’re proposing?”

And Barney smiles so wide and hopeful that Bucky half wishes Rebecca could see it. Barney says, “If I’ve got your blessing,” and Bucky just about tackles him. They glide and bang a little into the boards.

“Of course,” Bucky says, and his eyes are watering a little but it’s okay for him to be crying now, even if he is a hockey player. “You have my blessing.”

Now that he’s heard the nerves, it’s easy to see the tension leave from Barney’s body. His face clears in an instant. Bucky elbows him happily and Barney messes up his hair, smiling. 

“Karate, huh?” Barney asks, grinning.

Bucky says, “Oh no that was a complete lie,” and Barney laughs out loud.

They finish their laps with Bucky telling Barney that Rebecca’s birthday’s in December and Barney tells him he’s thinking spring and Bucky says, “That’d be perfect.”

______

 

One of Bucky’s teammates, Gabe, is talking very rapidly to Nat when Bucky shows up for work. He’s leaning nearly over the counter while she makes someone’s drink and Darcy’s eyeing him very curiously from the register.

“Do you know him?” Darcy asks Bucky once he’s gotten his name tag pinned. ‘James’, it says. “He’s  _ cute. _ He’s hot and dreamy like chocolate.”

Bucky makes a face. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.”

She tilts her head to the side, evidently thinking, then nods and says, “Yeah that’s fair.” She turns her attention back to her customer.

Bucky pulls his hair up in a stolen hair tie (from Becks) and washes his hands, all the while staring at Gabe. He’s saying something about “without my permission” and her mouth is the thinnest he’s ever seen it. 

Also. Gabe’s cuter than he remembers.

“…just thought it’d help both of you,” Nat says defensively. “Get you both out there.”

Gabe says, “You can’t go around giving out my number,” and Bucky freezes.

Nat’s throwing her hands in the air and apologizing and Bucky’s blood feels like it’s stopped flowing, because that’s got to mean—

“Who’d you give it to?” Gabe asks, and Nat’s eyes flick over to Bucky, and he’s hyperaware of water from the faucet flowing over his hands. His mind shut down somewhere around “You can’t go around giving out my number”.

Nat’s saying something about “Why didn’t you ask him” and Gabe pulls out his phone and then there’s Bucky’s phone buzzing loudly, and Gabe looks at him and so does Nat and then Bucky holds up his phone, and shakes it (his hands are shaking) and says, “Me.”

______

 

So that’s how Bucky’s first date ever begins, and it’s not with Steve but he ignores that.

“I don’t see how you didn’t know,” Gabe says. They’re walking pretty aimlessly through the streets and all Bucky’s thinking is how strange this is, that this is Gabe and not Steve. The sky is the same color as Gabe’s shirt, and the grey makes his eyes brighter.

Bucky kicks a rock and says, “I never really thought—”

“Never really thought about anyone but Steve?” Gabe supplies, and when Bucky nods he grimaces a little. “I know. We all did, that’s partly why Tony was giving you grief, to make something happen.”

They’re walking and they’re heading toward the rink, probably subconsciously, but they’re walking and it’s Gabe and if he tries really, really hard he can ignore the fact that a small part of him wishes, still, that it was Steve.

He imagines packing all his feelings for Steve into a new rock and he kicks it as far as he can. It knocks into a café with a rose-colored awning, and there’s a blond guy sitting with a blonde girl in the window and he forcefully turns to Gabe.

Gabe’s wearing a wary expression. His voice is measured when he asks, “You still like him, don’t you?” Bucky closes his eyes, and when he opens them Gabe’s nodding thoughtfully. “I almost had Nat give you my number ages ago, once she started hanging out with you and Steve, but. It’s always going to be Steve for you, isn’t it?”

“No,” Bucky says. He’s thinking,  _ Who else? _ but ignores it. “Steve and I aren’t talking anymore.”

“Really?” Gabe says in surprise. He stops walking, and Bucky does too, and Gabe appraises him. “Huh,” and he’s smiling a little.

“‘Huh’, what?” Bucky says, and bumps his shoulder.

Gabe makes an  _ I dunno _ face and bumps him back. “Nothing.” Bucky’s about to ask him again but Gabe says, “Wanna get pancakes?”

“Pancakes?”

“You always said they were your favorite,” Gabe says, shrugging, “when we had to stay at hotels for tournaments.”

And maybe it’s because Gabe noticed and remembered, but Bucky thinks, just maybe, there’s something here.

They go to one of Gabe’s favorite 24-hour diners and the pancakes are fluffy and buttery and Bucky’s side hurts from laughing, and he only thinks about Steve later in the shower when he gets home.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Hawkeye: went to the jeweler’s today

Me: What’s it look like?

Hawkeye:  _ (Hawkeye sent a photo) _

Me: It’s beautiful

Me: She’s gonna love it

Hawkeye: we hope so

Hawkeye: i can’t believe he’s actually proposing

Hawkeye: not because he’s proposing to Becks but because it’s /Barney/

Me: Haha cut him some slack

Me: He’s a great guy

Me: Mom and I are so happy for them

Hawkeye: me too :)

______

 

Five days and another date later, Bucky, Rebecca, their mother, Clint, and Barney are on the ice. Barney and Becks pair off to skate with each other, and they start a passing drill; Becks wants to join a team in the winter. She’s got a good head for the strategy of it—partly due to her watching Bucky’s practices when they were younger—so she and Barney have been working on puck handling for the past few weeks. Clint and Bucky skate with Mom and, after about half an hour, coax her off clinging to the boards. They both take one of her hands and skate with her in center ice and she throws her head back laughing, and if this day had a color, it’d be soaked in a soft lavender. 

______

 

**New Text Message**

Black Widow: Are you guys ‘official’ yet? XD

Me: Nat?

Black Widow: Yesss?

Me: Stop changing your name in my phone

Black Widow: Never! :D

Black Widow: Is that a yes?

Me: I think so

Black Widow: !!!!!

Black Widow: Told you so

Me: :p

Black Widow: :D :D :D

______

 

Peggy takes him to Sephora in the last week of July. They haven’t hung out as often as he’d’ve liked this summer; she’s got some science project at the community college that she’s doing with Mr. Stark as her faculty sponsor, something about ballistics research, and it’s been taking up nearly all of her free time. It’s good to see her, even if it’s in a fluorescent store with makeup that’s way too expensive.

“You’ve got to treat yourself sometimes,” she says when he mentions this. She’s eyeing a row of forcefully red lipstick, and he knows her well enough to know that she’s talking herself as much as him into spending money. “You deserve it, Buck. You’re allowed to buy things sometimes.”

Bucky hands her a lip stain—he didn’t even know there  _ were _ lip stains—that’s the same red as the Avenger hockey uniform. “True, but bills.”

She turns to look at him so fast he’s afraid she’s gonna hurt herself. She rubs her neck and says, sharp, “You said bills were paid?” 

“They are, but we could be short sometime in the future,” Bucky says.

“But you said you’re set for this month and next and the month after?”

He nods. “We are, but—”

“Bucky,” she says, pointing the lipstick at him, “if you’re ahead by three months, I think you can buy yourself some eyeliner.”

“Yeah, I know that. But at the same time—”

She shakes her head and grabs his hand and takes them to the eyeliner part of the store. “No buts today. Or, if you’d rather, I’ll buy it and say it’s an early present.”

He doesn’t deserve the friends he has. “My birthday was in March,” he says, and then, “Pegs, you can’t, I’ll pay for it.”

She just folds her arms and raises an eyebrow. “An early present for next year, and you will  _ not, _ James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Bleagh okay, you’ve better pay for it now,” Bucky says, making a face. And she does, and they go to that diner Gabe introduced him to, and they talk a bit about Gabe and how well it’s going and he hasn’t thought about Steve all day.

______

 

He dreams about Steve at night. It’s not fair to Gabe and he tries not to, but he can’t always help it. And sometimes he doesn’t try to help them. These ones leave him feeling confused and gritty and—well. Stiff.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Me: You awake?

Gabe: Yea

Gabe: Y’re u up?

Me: No reason

Me: Just a dream

Me: Was a little intense

Gabe: Oh. U ok?

Me: Yeah

Me: Just wanted to say I’m happy we’re together

Gabe: U’re such a dork

Gabe: I’m glad we’re dating 2

Me: :)

Gabe: ^^

______

 

Barney’s birthday is the fourth of August, and Becks takes him to dinner. She comes home with her lipstick smudged and smelling like tacos and guacamole, and she’s smiling so wide she fills the whole house. It’s great seeing her this happy, Bucky thinks, and then thinks that spring can’t get here fast enough.

______

 

Becks buys the tickets online on August 17th and then it’s a short drive, made shorter by how many people they’ve got piled into their car. Becks drives and Barney navigates and Mom teases them when they hold hands and Clint and Nat are twisted around in their seats to join in the conversation in the back row, where Sam and Peggy and Bucky and Gabe are loudly and spiritedly discussing the pros and cons of the Harry Potter movies versus the books, and it’s bright and it’s brilliant and this must be how the universe was created, from this feeling that’s swirling in Bucky’s chest.

They spill out of the car and then they’re just about running for the entrance, not quite bouncing into others going the same way but not quite missing them, and all Bucky’s feeling is timeless. Like they’d be here forever, doing this.

He’s warm and smiling and holding Gabe’s hand, in public, and it’s not with Steve but he’s thinking maybe it’s better that it isn’t.

_ (I don’t owe you every little thing, _ but he shoves it down.)

After they enter the park, Mom calls them to circle up. “All right,” she says, and for some reason it sounds like she’s about to send them into war. “We talked about this earlier, but to reiterate: buddy system, no one goes anywhere alone, you’ve all got some money for food, and we’re riding the Cyclone at four. It is—” she checks her watch “—one now, so you’ve got three hours to explore and ride rides and snack. If you run into any problems, you’ve all got my number, right?” They nod. “Good. Then, break!”

______

 

Bucky didn’t quite realize how much there was to do. The last time he was here he was with his father, so he was at least five or younger and it’s definitely changed since then. That or he just doesn’t remember, which is also possible.

Becks and Barney and Mom take a few pictures of the six of them before going to the ferris wheel, and soon after Sam and Clint break off to go look at a sharpshooting game involving pellet guns and rubber duckies. Bucky, Gabe, Nat, and Peggy look at each other.

“What d’you guys wanna do?” Bucky asks.

Nat points to a tall tower thingy and says, “Let’s do that,” and they make their way through the crowd towards it. 

As they get nearer they discover it to be a ride where you’re strapped in and shot into the air. They go on this four times in a row—Nat and Gabe love it—and after the fourth Bucky’s stomach is complaining. He feels better when he sees how pale Peggy is.

“Maybe something a little closer to the ground next?” she suggests weakly.

“If we must,” Nat says, sighing dramatically, and Gabe laughs.

Bucky looks at him, at their hands. Gabe’s pretty when he laughs. He’s pretty when he doesn’t, too, but the surprise of the laugh is what really does it for Bucky.

They’ve been dating for about a month and haven’t kissed yet. He’s thinking about kissing him today, maybe. Hopefully.

“What about that?” Nat says. She’s gesturing toward a tent with a ton of stuffed animals hanging off it.

“That would be perfect,” Peggy says.

It’s one of those set-up-the-bottles-and-knock-them-down games. It’s using milk bottles that look like they’re from the 40s or before that, the ones that they show in  _ Tom and Jerry _ and other cartoons on Saturdays. The guy running the stand explains the rules and he’s so energetic and smiley that Bucky smiles too.

The guy points to the stuffed animals and says, “If you can knock them all down on the first try, you win Herman.”

“Herman?” Gabe asks, the corner of his mouth twitching. His lips are pretty when he talks, too.

“The elephant,” the guy says. “Some blond kid named him earlier.”

Bucky looks at Gabe, who’s looking at the elephant with his mouth open slightly, and then at Herman and then at the guy. “I wanna try,” he says, and the guy hands him three tennis balls.

Bucky tosses a ball lightly, studying the pyramid. He’s very aware that his boyfriend’s watching him. (His  _ boyfriend. _ Still so thrilling to think that.) He throws the ball.

It clinks into the top three bottles and they topple off the pyramid. His shoulders slump.

He ends up clearing the pyramid, but it’s only enough for one of the smaller stuffed animals, and he picks an owl and gives it to Gabe apologetically.

“It’s okay,” Gabe says, his lips very close to Bucky’s ear. Bucky shivers. “Maybe I’ll win it for you instead.”

And he does, and the elephant’s a lot larger than it had seemed—it comes to his bellybutton, easy—and Bucky could’ve kissed him then, and would have had Peggy not said something about wanting cotton candy. 

______

 

2:15 and they’ve met up with Clint and Sam again. One of the venders by the cotton candy stand sells corn dogs, so Bucky alternates between bites of that and his cotton candy. It’s a very, very odd flavor combination; he should probably maybe be concerned that he likes it so much.

And then he realizes he’s gonna taste like a weird blend of corn dog and cotton candy if (when?) he kisses Gabe later and he mentally shakes his head at himself. He hugs Herman tightly.

Clint’s laden down with rubber ducks from the sharpshooter game, and Bucky can’t look at him without laughing. He’s somehow constructed a necklace of about twenty of them and the contrast between their bright yellow plastic faces and his orange shirt is so hideous even Peggy looks like she wants to say something.

“What next?” Sam asks finally, after they’ve all finished their cotton candy and Bucky’s done with his corn dog. 

Gabe says, “Rollercoaster?” and takes Bucky’s hand, and Bucky goes bright red. He catches Sam looking at their hands and Bucky doesn’t miss the crease that forms between his eyebrows.

“Sounds good,” Clint says.

Gabe’s holding his hand. It’s not electric the way it was when Steve did. That’s wrong, right? That’s not how it should be, is it?

They get in line and Bucky smiles weakly at Gabe when Gabe looks up at him. Gabe smiles widely back, the corners of his eyes creasing, and Bucky feels like an imposter. His stomach twists unpleasantly, and it’s not just because of the drops.

______

 

They run into Mom and Becks and Barney at 3:15 by the Cyclone, and Bucky and Gabe decide to walk around a while longer while the others go on the rollercoaster.

It’s nice. Bucky’s decided to think about how much he likes Gabe for the rest of the day, and however long he needs to before he believes it. He’s determined to do this right.

What he’s thinking is, he doesn’t want to ‘Steve’ Gabe. He doesn’t want to be that guy.

He won’t be that guy.

“What’s wrong?” Gabe asks.

Bucky shrugs and hugs Herman again. “Nothing.”

Gabe studies him and says, “You don’t have to tell me. But don’t insult my intelligence.”

“What d’you mean?” Bucky asks, frowning.

“I’ve known you for twelve years,” Gabe says, not looking at him. “I know when you’re upset.”

“I’m not, Gabe.”

“You’re doing your ‘thinking about Steve Rogers’ face.”

Guilt, now. “Do I have one of those?” he asks. Nervousness climbs inside every inch of him.

“You do.”

Gabe’s still not looking at him. Bucky looks at him, and his mouth is a thin line. 

He offers, “I’m sorry,” and Gabe meets his eyes now.

“‘Sorry’?” Gabe repeats, and stops walking. Someone bumps into them both. “Why?”

“I don’t know, you seem upset—”

“You’re not good at this,” Gabe says, and it’s like a knife to his chest. 

Bucky has to consciously keep from digging his nails into his palms. “I know, I just—” He takes a breath and starts again. “I know I’m not. I’ve never dated anyone before.”

“You’re not good at not loving him, is what I meant,” Gabe says.

And then Gabe drops his hand. 

It feels very, very final. Gabe looks at him sadly. 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, and even he hears the desperation in his voice. He tries to swallow it down. “I’ll do better, I promise.”

But Gabe’s stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans and he’s shaking his head and now he says, “I think I saw him earlier. Go get him.” And then Gabe’s walking away toward the Cyclone, and Bucky stands in the pathway staring after him like an idiot. 

Someone runs into him and some numb part of him realizes,  _ He just broke up with me. _

______

 

He has ten minutes before he has to go meet everyone at the rollercoaster, so he wanders around the tents with Herman. Bucky tells Herman the history of everything in his head, how a silly boy fell for his oblivious best friend, how they kissed and stopped talking, how the silly boy’s still in love with the friend. _ You’re not good at not loving him. _ He gets some stares from people he passes but he brushes them off. And he knows it’s stupid, but talking through this mess to the elephant helps some. At least Herman can’t judge.

Five minutes now. He’s behind a restaurant on the very outskirts of the park, and it’ll certainly take more time than that to get back to them, but he’s not really in the mood to care. 

He hopes Gabe got back okay and talks himself to his feet.

But then there’s a loud  _ clang _ and a muffled “oof” that sounds oddly familiar and Bucky’s running around the restaurant toward the dumpster before he realizes he’s moving.

Someone’s kicking the shit out of someone and both of them have cuts on their hands and faces. The kicker winds up to kick again, but Bucky tackles him. They both go flying into a pile of garbage bags. The kicker rolls to his feet so fast it’s like he wasn’t in the garbage at all, and he’s familiar to Bucky too.

“Rumlow,” Bucky snarls, and stands up. His left arm feels like it’s gonna fall off; that’s definitely gonna bruise.

Rumlow’s bleeding from a split lip and split knuckles and faintly from his nose, too, but he still manages to glare at Bucky dismissively. “Barnes,” he drawls. He looks beyond Bucky to the person recovering on the ground.

Bucky takes his opening and punches Rumlow squarely on the temple and he collapses. Bucky pauses a moment, waiting, but he doesn’t get up. He turns to the other guy and they make eye contact and Bucky seriously considers punching him too.

“Thought you were done fighting,” Bucky says, forcing his tone even. His hands shake and his heart chooses that moment to make sure he remembers it.

Steve smiles at him sheepishly. Blood oozes from a cut on his forehead, and he’s got streaks of dirt all over his face, and Bucky swears at himself because his heart skips at that smile. He strides over to him and hauls him to his feet.

“I was,” Steve says, indignant (summer vocab). “Not my fault he came out of nowhere.”

Bucky raises his eyebrow. Steve keeps eye contact, but Bucky’s more patient; after thirty seconds of staring Steve looks away and mumbles, “He said something about you.”

That lurches in Bucky’s chest. He frowns. “About me?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Steve mutters, and Bucky’s phone rings before he can press him.

“Hey, Nat,” he says through a sigh. “I’m fine, don’t worry. Got a little distracted.” He glances at Steve, who’s doing his best not to look like he’s listening. “I’ll be right there.”

“You’d better be,” Nat says, and hangs up.

Steve motions to his phone. “How is she?”

“Why don’t you ask her yourself” is all Bucky says before picking up his elephant and storming away.

“You won Herman!” Steve says delightedly, and Bucky sighs loudly.

______

 

“Where the hell were you?” Becks says, furious, once they get to the Cyclone. “It’s four-thirty, Bucky.”

“Saving this jerk,” he replies. Steve raises a hand hesitantly, and Bucky notices Gabe’s eyes narrow.

Peggy opens her purse and takes out a wipe and starts cleaning the dirt off Steve’s face. She says, “You idiot, what were you doing?”

“Fighting Rumlow,” Bucky says, while Steve says, “I fell.”

Bucky glares at him. Steve raises his hands as if in surrender. “Technically not untrue.”

“Why’re you here, Rogers?” Nat asks. Her shoulders are tense.

“I’m here with Tony, Jane, Pepper, and Thor,” he says. Bucky’s very, very aware of the fact that he didn’t say Sharon. “A sort of last hurrah before school.”

Sam says, “We haven’t seen you all summer,” and Steve bows his head.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I didn’t think you’d want to, honestly.”

Bucky scoffs. Clint mouths,  _ Be nice, _ and Bucky would flip him off if his mother and sister weren’t there.

It’s tense and uncomfortable and Bucky wants to go home. Steve looks at him uneasily, as if asking for approval, but Bucky’s very much not in the mood to play whatever game he’s got in mind.

“Let’s find Tony and them and go home,” Bucky says tiredly. He rubs his eyes.

They don’t talk while they’re looking. Bucky ends up walking next to Gabe at one point, but Gabe realizes the same moment he does and speeds up to say something to Barney.

Steve takes his place. “Everything okay?” he asks, voice low.

“Peachy.” He kicks at the stake of a tent and the worker glares at him. He makes a face back.

“Are you and Gabe fighting?”

That’s the end of whatever patience he had. “I don’t owe you every little thing, Steve Rogers,” Bucky says, and his words are practically a hiss. Steve winces; he’s never been this mad at him before, not even at the beginning of the summer. “Stop acting like you’re entitled to my life.”

Someone puts a hand on his shoulder; he turns and sees Peggy. She squeezes his shoulder and says something like “He’s your friend, or was; be kind”. He nods, and she takes her hand back.

He doesn’t want to be kind.

Nat’s on the phone with Jane Foster now. “The cotton candy stand? On our way.”

“How do you have Jane Foster’s number?” Bucky asks.

Her smile is carefully innocent. “We made out a few times freshman year,” she says.

Clint says, “Still think you should’ve dated,” and she shrugs, still smiling.

“Maybe someday” is all she says, because now they can see Tony, Jane, Pepper, and Thor. 

Clint waves at them and Tony waves back and then Tony says, “Cap, what happened to your face?”

Sam makes a disgusted face. “That’s my nickname for him.”

“Steve. It is good to see you not grievously injured,” Thor says, and Bucky thinks his tone might be a little too serious for a guy who’s got a giant sunflower painted on his cheek.

Thor pulls Steve into a hug that somehow looks painful and comforting at the same time and Tony claps him on the back. Bucky hates how easy they are with Steve and then hates that he hates it. It’s not like he’s got any claim to who Steve’s friends with, or that he wants a say. What he wants is to be gone from here.

“Well,” Steve says awkwardly. He looks just over all of their heads when he says, “Thanks for helping me find them.”

“‘Course,” Clint and Sam say. 

Peggy and Nat hug him, but he’s looking over their shoulders at Bucky. His eyes are unfairly blue. Bucky scowls at him, and he looks at the ground. 

Rebecca taps Bucky’s shoulder and Barney puts his arm around his neck, and, for some reason that’s to do with Steve and Gabe and this entire shitty day, Bucky feels tears poking at his eyes and wonders when he won’t feel like crying over Steve Rogers. 

Pepper says hi to him, Sam, and Nat right before they leave, and Nat winks at Jane while Thor looks between the two of them in apparent confusion. Tony gives them the peace sign and Bucky’s already walking away before he lowers his hand.

______

 

“What happened?” Becks asks. They’re in their kitchen now, having dropped everyone else but Barney off. Mom leans against a counter with her arms crossed.

Bucky leans back onto the two legs of his chair before letting the front two crash to the floor. “He was getting the shit kicked out of him. I stopped it.”

“Are you okay?” Mom asks. She starts picking at the glue binding the countertop to their cabinets.

“I’m fine,” he says, and he knows they know he’s not, can tell by the way Barney and Becks exchange looks and the way Mom purses her lips, but he shakes his head goes to his room before anyone can ask again.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Steve: Hey

Steve: I just wanted to say thank you for jumping in like that

Steve: I mean, I had him on the ropes and everything

Me: Like hell you did

Steve: But I wanted to say thank you

Steve: Wait what?

Me: “Had him on the ropes” like hell you did

Me: He would’ve kicked the shit out of you

Me: More than he already did

Steve: Bucky?

Me: Why do you do that?

Me: You’re so stupid when it comes to yourself

Steve: Bucky

Me: What?

Steve: Are you and Gabe dating?

______

 

Bucky yells into his pillow.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Me: That is absolutely not your business.

Steve: Oh

Steve: Was just gonna say, good for you

Steve: He’s liked you for ages

Me: Why in hell would you know that?

Me: And why the fuck would you care?

Steve: I have eyes

Steve: And because I want you to be happy

______

 

Bucky throws his pillow across the room.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Me: Stop.

Steve: Stop what?

Me: You always do this

Steve: What?

Me: Pretend to care! I’m tired of it

Steve: I don’t pretend to care

Me: Yes you do

Me: And I’m sick of it

Me: You can’t ask me about if Gabe and I are dating because you don’t care

Me: So please just stop

Steve: Of course I do

______

 

Bucky throws his pillow again.

______

 

**New Text Message**

Me: You only care because you think I’m finally over you

Me: Don’t pretend

Me: You want me to be somewhere you can easily come back to

Steve: I do care about you. I really do, Bucky. You were my best friend for my entire life

Steve: I know I’ve fucked up

Steve: But I promise I didn’t know how you felt

Me: Why’d you kiss me then?!

Steve: I’d always wanted to

Me: Then why didn’t you say anything afterwards

Me: Because I wanted to too

Me: And you just ignored me and started dating Sharon

Steve: I thought I messed up

Steve: You didn’t say anything either

Steve: It’s not all on me

Steve: So I thought you didn’t like me and she clearly did so I just thought

Me: You’re an idiot

Steve: I know 

Me: I’m still mad at you

Steve: I know

Steve: I’m sorry

Me: I’m gonna be mad at you for awhile

Steve: I know

Steve: I’ll make it up to you

Steve: I’ve missed you

Me: I missed you too.

______

 

Bucky collects his pillow from the corner and laughs at himself. “I’m gonna be mad at you for awhile”, sure he is. He gets into bed. He’s never managed to stay mad at Steve long—this summer has been, by far, the exception—and especially not when they’re talking. 

He rolls onto his back and closes his eyes. His heart is curiously heavy and light at the same time, and it aches as a result of both.

_ You’re not good at not loving him. _ Well, he’ll try to be. They’re talking again, and he’s not gonna screw himself over by falling for Steve again. If this is gonna work, they’ve got to be friends first. And you don’t do that with friends.

He’s not gonna make that mistake again.

Bucky falls asleep, and tonight he doesn’t dream about Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure when the next chapter will be up; hopefully not super long of a wait. It'll focus on Steve attempting to bridge their relationship and more hockey things'll go on as well. 
> 
> This has not been beta'ed yet, so it's possible wording may change. I'll add a note at the top of the chapter if this is the case.
> 
> You all can visit me on tumblr! If you want to, of course. I'm @untiltheendofthelinebuck :)
> 
> Thank you for reading this far :) I hope you're all liking it.


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